


Binary Stars

by Author_of_Kheios



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Assassination Attempt(s), Bottom Genji Shimada, Dom Tekhartha Zenyatta, Dom/sub, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Null Sector Tekhartha Zenyatta (previously), Oni Genji Shimada, Romance, Smut, Sub Genji Shimada, Top Tekhartha Zenyatta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_of_Kheios/pseuds/Author_of_Kheios
Summary: For years, Talon and the Shimada Clan have been engaged in a not-so-subtle war over Eurasia, but thus far, they've been unable to clash directly due to the interference of an unknown third party. There is no proof, of course, but many believe the Shambali monks to be that third party, including those on either side of the war. Intent on removing all obstacles in their way, each side has sent assassins to deal with the pesky, stubborn presence sequestered in the heart of Nepal. All have failed, repeatedly, and given up.Except one... a persistent demon whose existence is the darkness, and who comes face-to-face with the light.
Relationships: Genji Shimada & Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Genji Shimada & Hanzo Shimada, Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Tekhartha Mondatta & Tekhartha Zenyatta
Comments: 16
Kudos: 65





	Binary Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> I know, it's been _so long_ since my last upload, shame on me!
> 
> So, the reason I took so long getting this up... well, multiple reasons, the first of which is obvious: THE LENGTH.... In case you missed it, this whopper is _twenty-six **thousand**_ words long, and yes, I am posting it all at once. To be completely honest, I did _not_ expect it to be this long, also I did not go into it thinking of writing a dom/sub thing; I wanted to write something fluffy and funny about assassins trying to kill each other and somehow ending up in bed together... clearly that's not what happened. I didn't even get started before it changed and turned into something entirely different, and then it got all emotional and dramatic and- yeah. Then when I got toward the end, it was just... it was sloppy and it wasn't going the way I wanted it to, and it was falling apart at the seams so I ended up having to remove two entire scenes (which were not small in the slightest, btw) and just rewrite them from scratch (many many many thanks to Jukraft for reading over them and suggesting the edits in the first place).
> 
> SO... This monster of a story, 26k words, which started months ago and went through a whole damn Process(tm)... is finally done and I am not doing anything else with it, so I'm posting it all at once. (Also I want to point out that I wrote and completed three other short stories _and_ an 8K, which you can learn more about [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBS51UO9FU4), between the start of "Binary Stars" and now.)
> 
> Please enjoy this thing which took up way too much of my gd time, and don't forget to kudos, comment, and subscribe for more giant monster-fics. XD
> 
> EDIT: fixed a missing segment that i forgot to redo and that every single one of you (except Juk) neglected to scream at me for... shame on you all. u-u

Shadows melted through the darkness of the moonless night, guided by the meager light of the stars peeking through misty clouds to reflect off snow and create an ambient icy grey. Far ahead, a point of warm orange lit up the night, and it was toward this encampment that the shadows darted in eerie silence.

Just outside the range of the fire, the shadowed figures paused at a raised fist from the one in the lead. Motioning to their companions, the leader split them up, gesturing for each group to go a different way. Without a word, everyone disappeared.

The omnic soldiers on guard went down quickly, before they even realised they were under attack. Each time, the shadowed figures checked that the omnic was disabled only temporarily, nodding confirmation to one another before moving on. Next went the dozen and half bored human soldiers unable to sleep and gathered around the fire to chat quietly under the stars; a number of shadows appeared out of nowhere, equal to the number of soldiers, and grappled them to silence.

“Clear,” a low voice called in Nepali. The leader nodded and waved the speaker closer.

“Take all the weapons and most of their supplies; leave them with just enough to return home.”

“Yes, Master. And the Shimada encampment across the ridge?”

“I will take half our number there and begin; follow when you have finished.”

“Take all but two; three is more than enough to complete this task.”

“As you will,” the leader acquiesced, picking out two others to stay behind. “Be quick, my student; we must return before sunrise.”

“Iris be with you.”

“And you.”

All but the three vanished into the night, and the three proceeded to search the entire encampment for weapons and supplies, leaving very little behind. They didn’t touch any of the money they found; there were plenty of cities and towns along the way to purchase food and other necessary supplies, and there was no need to take it anyway. Like this, the scouting party here would be forced to leave without engaging the one across the ridge, but would still have the needed funds to return home.

After gathering up everything and carrying it to the nearest hidden cave to be properly dealt with later, they hurried to catch up with the rest of their people, going through much the same process at the second campsite. When that was finished, the shadows retreated up the mountain, disappearing into an old, well-kempt monastery clinging to the rocky mountainside like moss. With murmured farewells, they separated, each going their way.

One, instead of going to his room, went to the shrine and knelt at the altar of stone chiseled with prayers and incantations. Quietly, but aloud, he gave thanks to the Iris for their safety and expedient return, taking comfort in the way his whispered words reflected just so from the ceiling and the supporting pillars to make it seem as though he was in a bubble of seclusion.

That same bubble saved his life.

A sighing song of unsheathed metal reached his ears, and he instinctively threw himself into a roll, out of the way of the blade that sank into the altar at level with where his neck had been. Leaving the blade, the assassin drew a shorter sword and lunged after him. Again, he dodged, knocking the back of the blade aside to unbalance the assassin, only for them to make use of the slight momentum, spinning in an effortless roundhouse. He brought his arm up just in time to take the brunt of the blow against his forearm, letting the force of it throw him out of the sanctuary and toward the cliff.

The assassin was good, so he had to be better; setting his feet, he raised open hands, palm up in front, and flicked his fingers at the figure above him in blatant challenge. With a low growl of irritation, the assassin leapt from their ledge, flinging three shuriken in rapid succession. He didn’t even bother to move, snatching the stars out of the air one after another, two in one hand and one in the other. The short blade came down at his shoulder and he used the shuriken on that side to deflect the blow away, punching forward with the other two toward the assassin’s chest. The assassin ducked, planting themselves to come up inside his guard, and rammed their elbow into his sternum, knocking him back a couple of steps and forcing him to recalibrate.

“Well done,” he huffed, pressing his wrist to the spot and laughing lightly.

Out here in the starlight, the assassin’s outfit was clearly visible, and strangely fitting, he thought; black clothes with red accents and a bone white oni mask snarling at him, tusks and horns jutting from a twisted visage meant to inspire horror.

“You have come to end my life, demon?”

“Your words mean nothing to me, monk,” the assassin rasped in English, voice purposely low and cracked to prevent identification. It was difficult even to determine gender, though he suspected male, especially given their strength and up-close methods.

“Ah, a foreigner,” he replied in kind, glancing at the shuriken in his hands and the short sword in the assassin’s. “Japanese?”

“What does it matter? You will die regardless.”

“Most assassins sent against us are locals,” the monk explained conversationally, idly spinning the sole shuriken in one hand between his fingers. The assassin shifted, recalculating, and yet he continued as though they were having tea rather than fighting for their lives. “I suppose one might assume that the locals know the territory, are better acquainted with our habits, and will not arouse suspicion so quickly, but in truth, a foreigner is more dangerous to us.”

“And why is that, monk?” the assassin asked, humouring him even while readying for the next attack.

“Because you are less predictable.” As though to prove his point, the assassin seemed to vanish, and he tipped his head to the side, looking up at the sky.

For a split second, there was only silence. Then he whirled, and metal clanged musically against metal as wakizashi met shuriken. Chuckling, he twisted his wrists, hooking the curves of the unique stars around the blade, and twirled beneath his arms, throwing his head back and crushing the mask against the assassin’s nose as he wrenched the wakizashi from the assassin’s grip, making them hiss and snarl curses in Japanese. A quick spin back around to face them and a deft flick of his hands, and the assassin froze, their own blade at their throat.

“But-”

“ _Less_ unpredictable is not _entirely_ unpredictable,” he noted in amusement, stepping back and twirling the blade expertly. To the assassin’s surprise, he held it out, handle first.

“...You are not afraid I will simply shove it through your heart like this?” they asked, vocal disguise slipping just enough to confirm his suspicions that they were indeed male. Or at least had a masculine voice.

“You could try,” he hummed, unconcerned. “You would fail. I should think one failure tonight is enough.”

“I cannot fail!” the assassin growled, snatching his wakizashi and slipping in close to press the tip of it to the struts of the monk’s neck.

Before he could plunge it through wires and cables to sever head from shoulders, he hesitated, though he couldn’t say why. He met the faint blue glow of the monk’s optics and felt a sudden rush of ice through his spine at the peculiar sensation that greeted him of something beyond imagination, something that defied explanation; it was as though he stared into an abyss, and the abyss stared back. Yet, somehow, it was not malignant, as he would expect from such a sensation; rather, it was like standing in the presence of a god.

“...What are you?” he breathed, stone still in a sort of mixed fear, half primal terror and half obsequious awe.

“I am but a humble monk,” was the lighthearted reply, “in service to the Iris for the benefit of all, from humans to omnics, and even to the earth herself.”

“No,” the assassin murmured, slowly withdrawing and sheathing his blade at his hip. “There is more to you. And as I am, I will never complete my mission. You will live, for now. But mark my words, monk; I will return, and one day, it will be to take your head.” Leaping inhumanly high over the monk, he landed within the shrine and tugged his larger sword from the altar, sheathing it on his back. Without a word, he vanished into the night, and the monk stepped close to the cliff, laying his hands against the stone railing.

“I look forward to our next meeting, my friend,” he spoke into the chilly air, watching the fading stars as a faint predawn glow began at the horizon. “As there is more to me, so is there more to you, for we are all one within the Iris.”

⛬

Two shuriken thump solidly into the wall, and the third bites deep into metal with a ringing clank. Zenyatta sighs and ducks the next triplet, reaching over his shoulder to pull the one from his back. Fortunately he didn’t aim for anything vital this time.

“Really, Oni; I am too busy for this,” he says pointedly, turning to face the empty room.

“Too busy to fight for your life?” an amused voice scoffs from the window, where the oni-masked assassin swings in and lands soundlessly inside.

“As I recall, the score stands at 27-to-zero, in my favour,” Zenyatta returns blandly, lightly flicking the shuriken back. Oni catches it with ease and returns it to the sheath mounted into his forearm.

It took a year after they met for Zenyatta to realise that the reason so many of Oni’s movements and abilities seemed inhuman was because he _wasn’t_ human, not entirely; the poor man had been in some sort of accident and a large portion of his body replaced with prosthetics, more still fused with cybernetic enhancements. In fact, Oni is more machine than man, physically; his spirit, however, is still very much human, and from what Zenyatta can tell, defiantly hateful of his own existence straddling two very different worlds.

It makes these moments of almost playful banter all the more precious.

“There is always a first, monk,” Oni points out, striding across the room to lean his hip against the back of Zenyatta’s chair and resting his elbow on Zenyatta’s shoulder. The monk’s floating mala orbs expand outward to encompass both of them. “So what thing of such great importance distracts you from our usual repartee?”

“I am almost surprised you have not guessed,” the monk says, tipping his head the way a human would cock a brow. “The heads of the Shimada Clan are attempting to arrange a meeting with Mondatta.”

“...And you have agreed?” Oni asks, posture stiffened and tone carefully level.

“ _I_ have done everything I can to convince Mondatta that this is nothing more than a trap.” Zenyatta taps at his neck in annoyance, mala orbs circling a little faster in response to his agitation.

“Of course it is,” Oni scoffs, relaxing marginally. “If it goes through, I will be there you know.”

“I have no doubt,” Zenyatta humphs, looking up at him. “Would I finally see you without the mask?”

“Never,” Oni deadpans. “How dare you even ask.”

“There is always a first, demon,” he returns, quoting the assassin’s words back to him. Sighing, he nudges Oni’s elbow off his shoulder and stands, mala orbs slowing to contract around his neck before continuing their mesmerising orbit while he paces slowly around the room. “I do not suppose you have any suggestions...?”

“I do,” Oni replies lightly, dropping lazily into his vacated chair. “Don’t go.”

“I cannot,” Zenyatta grumbles, giving him a look can only be described as exasperated. “You will kill him and we will lose our teacher.”

“You would rather die with him?” Oni hums, lounging as though without a care.

“This war,” Zenyatta growls, stepping toward the assassin and making him leap to his feet, ready to fight, “is maddeningly pestiferous; it is beyond unmanageable now, and yet still you obdurate, intractable, mule-headed humans continue to batter yourselves against one another like it will fix anything!”

“That’s a lot of big words,” Oni notes, struggling not to laugh at the monk’s frustration. Zenyatta raises a finger at him, fully prepared to launch into a lecture, but they’re interrupted by a knock at the door.

In an instant, Oni has his wakizashi out, a triplet of shuriken between his fingers, and only the fact that Zenyatta is bodily blocking the door when he opens it prevents the hapless novitiate beyond from receiving a star to the throat.

“Yes?”

“S- So sorry to bother you,” the young trainee stammers, bowing quickly and awkwardly. “I- er, Master Mondatta sent me- I’m supposed to bring you to the Sanctum...” She dares to peek up at him then, biting her lip. “Ar- um... I know it’s not my place to ask, but... I heard raised voices...”

“It is nothing of importance, child,” Zenyatta soothes. “I am alright. You may go ahead and tell Mondatta I will follow soon.”

“Y- Yes!”

“Weapons away, Oni,” he says when the novitiate is gone and the door closed. He sounds as tired as he feels, and Oni approaches slowly, weapons already sheathed.

“...There is more to your stress... Something more than the meeting.”

“Mm.” Zenyatta doesn’t explain, well aware that his companion is an enemy and can’t be trusted with certain secrets. Still, he watches Oni for a moment, considering, and then shakes his head. “It is time for you to leave. I would say count this as a victory on your part, but that would require my head, and I rather need it a while longer.”

Oni barks an incredulous laugh, startled by the unexpected humour, however dark.

“How is it that even so harassed as you are, you can still joke?” The question eases Zenyatta’s mood somewhat and he tips his head in a vague sort of smile, the way only an omnic can.

“For every shadow, there is a light, and no matter how down I feel, there is always an upside. Even if it is only your laughter.”

Leaving the stunned assassin to gather himself, Zenyatta takes the papers from his desk and slips out the door, taking care to make sure no one is around that might spot the assassin in short moment he’s visible to passersby; for all that he is an enemy and a threat, Zenyatta holds him in high esteem, and though he can’t say he _trusts_ the assassin, per se, he does trust _in_ the assassin, to a fair extent.

It occurs to him rather suddenly as he reaches the Sanctum, that a bond has begun forming between them throughout these many secret sparring sessions and ‘assassination attempts’ that have yet to come even close to succeeding. It’s an odd thought, yet it sends a delighted tingle through his chassis, and by the time he greets Mondatta, his mood has vastly improved.

⛬

“What has you so distracted?” Genji jolts ever so slightly, glancing away from the window to see his brother standing warily in the doorway.

“Nothing,” he lies smoothly, standing and surreptitiously checking that his mask is still in place. “I haven’t slept well in the past few weeks.”

“You should go see Angela tonight then,” Hanzo humphs. “Get some sleeping pills from her; you need to be well rested for the start of the summit tomorrow.”

“Why?” The bitter word slips from Genji’s tongue before he can stop it, and now that the damage is done, he might as well continue. “What is even the point of this, Hanzo? We both know Father will want me to kill the head monk there, and no doubt Talon is putting their own assassins in place for the same reason; my presence is superfluous.”

“Superfluous?” Hanzo scowls. Genji falters, realising his monk’s habitual vocabulary is making its way into his own.

“Unneeded,” he dismisses, carefully casual. “Have you never read a dictionary? Do you ever read, period?”

“Watch yourself, Oni,” Hanzo snarls, stepping into the room and reaching for his bow.

“My point,” Genji says sharply, making it clear he isn’t in the mood to tussle, “is that we might as well sit back and let Talon take him out. All the better if we can get proof and sway public opinion in our favour.”

“What does public opinion matter?” Hanzo sneers. “Once the nuisances have been neutralised, and Talon defeated, we will answer to none.”

The monk’s beliefs are mingling into Genji’s, he realises, but he finds he doesn’t mind. Rather, he welcomes the new perspective, and that epiphany brings with it an insight he was unprepared for; the longer Hanzo continues to rant, the more he understands that in spite of his words, Hanzo is frustrated with how things are proceeding.

It seems Genji is not the only one questioning the validity of this war.

"Alright, enough," he says finally, injecting the words in a momentary pause of the rant. "I get it; I'll be at the summit."

"Good. And you had best not fail, as you have with the other monk."

Instead of bristling at the warning, Genji finds himself laughing at the idea that he could ever outdo the monk.

"I would tell you to try, but we both know my training and body are superior to yours, anija; if I cannot best him, you don't stand a chance."

"Just do your job, Oni," Hanzo growls, leaving. Genji sighs, knowing his father will want to speak with him tonight; no doubt Hanzo is already on his way to reveal Genji's traitorous thoughts.

He blames the monk for this, for all those casual conversations in the midst of fighting that somehow got through and made him _think_. The monk tainted his thoughts...

No, that's not right... Is it really tainting if he feels more clear-headed than he ever has in his life?

Expanded seems a better choice of word. Or maybe illuminated. Broadened, aggrandised... The monk is most definitely rubbing off on him.

If he's honest, he rather likes it.

⛬

The summit promises to be an incredible event. For a long, painful decade, the world has cowered before the vicious war between two horrid, unjust, self-serving factions: the Shimada Clan, who laid claim to much of eastern Asia and the whole of Indonesia, and Talon, who placed a lien on most of Europe and crept into western Asia. Two years into the war, they met in the Himalayas, where a mysterious third party prevented the two sides from clashing directly. Many suspected the Shambali monks ― a small but vocal group of pacifists speaking against the war ― of being that third party, but none could prove it. Now, for the first time, the leaders of the two factions are going to meet on neutral ground with the head monk of the Shambali, titularly a discussion of peace.

Zenyatta knows better. Talon is nothing if not determined to remove any obstacle in their path, and although the Shimadas are more honourable, Oni’s attempts on his own life are proof that they can be just as ruthless.

Persistence. As much a human flaw as a strength, and one that has been driving him to distraction.

“Are you certain there is nothing I can do to convince you to walk away?” he asks the larger omnic in the room, helping him adjust his robes for the first meeting.

“This is an unprecedented opportunity, Zenyatta; for the first time in history, an omnic is being held equal to humans. To walk away from such a favourable occasion would be to walk away from everything we have fought for since the first AI gained sentience.”

“I know, Master,” Zenyatta sighs, stepping back to inspect his work with a critical eye. “But it does not mean I fear any less for your safety.”

“You underestimate me, my student,” Mondatta laughs, purposely shifting a portion of his clothing to make Zenyatta fuss over him again. Zenyatta slaps his hand away and fixes it, broadcasting his annoyance over their internal link.

“You are as obstinate as they are,” he humphs.

“And you are far too cynical,” Mondatta hums, amused. Catching Zenyatta’s hands, he wraps them between his own, somber now. “Zen. I am doing this for you. For every omnic who was never given a choice. We deserve so much more, and I will not stop fighting so long as there is life in these old limbs.”

“I am supposed to be the morbid one,” Zenyatta mutters, tugging his hands free and waving absently.

“Then let me be the optimist,” Mondatta chuckles. “I trust you to protect me.”

“Too optimistic,” Zenyatta says bluntly, without hesitation. His teacher laughs again, gripping his shoulder a moment.

“No matter what happens, Zenyatta, I am proud of you.”

“I will do my utmost to be worthy of it,” he replies, burying his fears to focus on his tasks; the summit is nominally a weapon-free event, but he knows from experience that assassins like Oni can be just as deadly without as with, and there will be no shortage of opportunities for ambushes after the first meeting.

⛬

As expected, the civilian audience come to witness the first meeting is impressive; the auditorium can hardly contain the massive crowd pressing in and spilling out into the corridors and the lobby, where screens display the stage for those who can’t see it directly. The stage itself is set with a circular table, six chairs awaiting the leaders and their seconds-in-command.

The dull roar of the crowd falls to a low murmur as a pair of omnics step onto the stage, chatting quietly between themselves. Without acknowledging the audience, they take their seats at the side of the table farthest from the crowd. Curiosity grows, and the murmur increases as two men arrive on one side of the stage, a larger man and another omnic taking the other side in a distorted mirror image. The excitement builds, even as the noise dies when the larger of the first two omnics stands, arms raised.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” he intones, glancing between the two sides. “I am Tekhartha Mondatta, and with me is my brother, Zenyatta.” Pressing his hands together, he bows slightly toward the two men. “Shimada Sojiro, Shimada Hanzo. Please be seated.” Turning, he offers a hand toward the large man on the other side. “Akande Ogundimu, Maximilien. Please.”

Akande shakes his hand, a faint smirk on his lips that widens as he takes his seat across from Sojiro. The two lock gazes, tension rising, and the crowd stirs, an uneasy hum buzzing through the auditorium.

“Twenty years ago,” Mondatta begins in English, the only one still standing, “the Omnic Crisis was ended thanks to the brave efforts of the members of Overwatch. Four years later, Overwatch was disbanded and its members scattered across the globe, in order to prevent them from becoming power-hungry. Ten years ago, unrest that had been building for years culminated in the first of many great battles to come: The Rialto Massacre. It was followed in the same year by the obliteration of Lijiang Tower in China. These events have since been connected with the organisation known as Talon, and the Shimada Clan, respectively.

“Ten years ago, you began a war. A war that has cost many lives, human and omnic alike. A war that has caused utter devastation all across Eurasia. The entire world now hangs in the balance, reliant on the outcome of this summit to determine the future. It is my hope that today, the tenth anniversary of the ruin of Rialto, we might find peace.”

“The Shimada Clan,” Sojiro states as Mondatta sits, “holds no responsibility for the zealous actions of outcasts who sought to besmirch the family name with the destruction of Lijiang Tower; we did not start this war, but we will see it to its end.”

“These claims that Talon slaughtered the people of Rialto are unfounded,” Akande says casually, relaxing in his seat. “We are a mercenary corporation. What we do requires a certain level of... brutality, I will admit, but without conflict, humanity can only grow weaker. This war is precisely what’s needed to make us stronger, and to that end, I see no purpose in peace.”

“Of course not,” Sojiro scoffs. “You are barbarians without honour; you fight only for your own satisfaction, to sate your own bloodlust.”

“Bold words from a man who hasn’t fought for himself in how many years?” Akande returns, smirking. “You send your underlings to do the real fighting; afraid to get your soft hands dirty, Sojiro?”

“Bite your tongue!” Hanzo begins, cutting off when his father raises a hand at him.

“I have paid my dues, in flesh and blood,” Sojiro replies coldly. “A man like you cannot comprehend the price that was taken from my mind and body in the Omnic Crisis.”

“Your pound of flesh is worthless in the face of true strength,” Akande says, the curl of his lips becoming more malicious than humoured. “The strongest don’t hesitate to fight to their last breath.”

“Be that as it may,” Mondatta interjects, “the purpose of this summit is not to compare doctrines; I have written a preliminary peace negotiation for you each to look over and amend to your liking. Tomorrow morning, we will meet again, and discuss your proposals.” As he speaks, Zenyatta stands, keeping an eye on his surroundings, and moves to hand a packet to each of them. “You are more than welcome to contact your counselors to review and analyse the document; indeed, I pray you do, so that we might come to an agreement suiting all parties.”

“Your offer will be considered,” Sojiro says, rising. “However, the likelihood of arranging peace with those barbarians is slight at best; we will return tomorrow with terms for their surrender.”

“We shall see,” Akande hums, also standing.

Without another word, they depart, leaving the pair of omnics alone on stage.

⛬

Genji watches from the shadows as Zenyatta and his master enter their suite, quiet and somber. After that display, he isn't surprised; he almost wishes it had been him at his father's side instead of Hanzo, except that exposing his scars is not worth the slight edge of maturity his presence would have afforded the family image. Now it's clearer than ever that neither side is willing to stand down.

Slipping outside, he climbs nimbly around to the window of the omnics' main room. It's locked, and the shades are drawn; a smart choice. But still not enough; it takes him only moments to undo the lock, and the window slides open soundlessly. He ducks inside silently, closing the window quickly behind him so the cooler air doesn't give him away. Hidden behind the shades like this, he can easily hear every word spoken in the bedroom.

"...no progress, Master; what is even the point?"

"We cannot know their hearts, Zenyatta. Who are we to say they will not listen if we do not dare to speak?"

"I want to believe that this summit will come to something ― truly, I do ― but I have spent years holding off assassins from the monastery, making myself a target to protect you and the others, and what have I to show for it beyond a few more scars?"

"...Are you speaking of the scars on your body, or the scars on your heart, my student?"

"...Both."

Genji glides across the room in the silence that follows, pausing beside the slightly ajar door and daring to peek in for a moment. His monk, Zenyatta, is perched on the end of the bed, leaning against Mondatta, who is holding him comfortingly, and an odd sort of inexplicable jealousy spikes through Genji's chest.

"I am proud of you, Zenyatta. In spite of everything, you still hold strongly to the Iris."

"Perhaps not as strongly as you believe, Master," Zenyatta whispers reluctantly. "There is an assassin that I see regularly, and the things of which we speak... It is all pointless, this war. They are not even truly fighting _for_ anything, except their own pride."

Genji recognises the sentiments of his own past rants, and realises he is affecting the monk as much as the monk is affecting him. Somehow, that irritates him, and he feels an unusual need to take back everything. 

"That may be true," Mondatta admits, gently stroking the struts of Zenyatta's neck. "But the Iris is neither good nor bad; it is an existence of balance, of Harmony. War, by its very definition, is chaos, discord, an antithesis of the Iris; it is a struggle for power, for a tipping of the scales in one's own favour. There is never a point. What matters is not if you can find meaning in war, but if you can find meaning _despite_ war."

"And that is your intention for this summit?" Zenyatta asks, relaxing into the touch. "You intend to find meaning by turning it all into a platform for omnic rights?"

"Of course. What better a stage than one which draws every gaze?"

Genji has heard enough for now, and he slips away, waiting for his moment to strike.

⛬

After Mondatta plugs in and settles into standby for the night, Zenyatta deactivates his mala orbs and checks the main room. There was supposed to be a guard detail provided by the resort that’s hosting the summit, but since there is no way to know if the guards had been bought by one side or the other, they had politely declined the offer. In any case, Zenyatta himself is far more competent than most.

Once he’s satisfied that the room is empty and clear of bugs, cameras, assassins, he turns back to the bedroom, only to pause in the doorway at a familiar sensation of being watched. The feeling is unique to a certain someone, and he sighs, mildly annoyed.

“You are growing lax, Oni,” he hums quietly, so as not to disturb Mondatta.

“Who’s to say I didn’t _let_ you sense me?” the demon-masked assassin purrs, dropping from nowhere behind him. He faces Oni, arms crossed, barring the way into the bedroom.

“If you are here for Mondatta, I will not go easy on you.”

“I can’t be here for you?”

“It is still 28-0 in my favour.”

“Ah!” Oni raises a finger, a smirk in his voice. “Only 27. Last time didn’t count.”

“And why not?” Zenyatta asks, charmed as always into the welcome banter.

“You didn’t fight back,” Oni chuckles, leaning closer. “And I’d wager you won’t fight back this time either.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” Reaching up, Oni touches the side of his faceplate gently. “Because I play dirty.” His metal fingers glide softly down the struts of Zenyatta’s neck, sparking something warm and unfamiliar in his wires.

“Are you attempting to seduce me?” Zenyatta hums, suppressing a shudder and keeping his tone level.

“Is it working?” Oni murmurs, close enough for the heat of his body to warm Zenyatta’s chassis. His other hand, armoured flesh, works its way beneath the layers of Zenyatta’s robe to trace the struts and tubing of his side, and this time, he can’t quite stall the shiver caused by so unexpectedly intimate a touch.

“No,” he replies defiantly. Oni snickers, amused.

“Liar. And you’re supposed to be a monk.”

“What is your goal, Oni?” Zenyatta demands, catching both wrists and pushing him back. “To distract me while a partner attacks Mondatta?”

“I don’t work well with others,” Oni scoffs blandly. “I have to have a reason to be interested in you?”

“We have done nothing but fight in the years since we met,” Zenyatta says pointedly, “and now you are interested in me?”

“Another lie,” Oni grins beneath his mask. “We have talked. Plenty. You know things about me that no other does, and I dare say I know things about you that you tell no one, not even your precious Mondatta.”

For a long moment, neither speaks as Zenyatta considers. Oni waits with uncharacteristic patience, and that more than any words indicates how serious he is. And truly, he isn’t wrong; the intimacy of the things they’ve discussed has bonded them over secrets they dare not share with anyone else. What is there left to hide?

“...One condition,” he agrees finally, releasing Oni’s wrists. “Remove your mask.”

Now Oni hesitates, hands curling reactively into fists at his sides.

“No,” he says quietly. “You don’t want to see my scars.”

“You assume humans and omnics hold the same standards of beauty. There is nothing you can show me that I have not already seen on your soul. Remove your mask, Oni.”

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Oni obeys, reaching up to loosen the ties. He pulls the mask away slowly, tugging down the fitted hood hiding his hair as well; tousled locks of green-tipped brown, patchy along the sides where scars track a vicious map from ear to ear and all down his neck, disappearing beneath the rest of his clothes. His uneasy amber gaze remains fixed on the floor as he awaits the monk’s response.

“See? Was that so hard?” Zenyatta asks, stepping closer and tipping Oni’s chin up to touch the seam of faceplate and jaw to rough, scarred lips. A visible spark of blue-green energy dances between metal and skin, buzzing across Oni’s lips and teeth and tongue and leaving him craving more.

“That wasn’t the reaction I expected,” Oni mutters breathlessly, absently chasing after another kiss. Zenyatta purrs amusement, allowing him a second one.

"What did you expect? Distaste? Disgust? Revulsion?"

"All of the above," Oni admits, grimacing faintly.

"You continue to assume I hold the same standards as humans," Zenyatta chides, tracing his fingers along a scar that bisects the corner of the assassin's lips. "While true that the conventional human definition of beauty considers this unappealing, I see only the... the road map of your life." Oni sucks his teeth at the teasing word choice, but he can't hide the slight grin tugging at his lips, nor the soft, mottled flush across his cheeks.

"A lifetime of judgement says otherwise, but who am I to stop you when this is exactly what I wanted?"

"Cheeky brat," Zenyatta chuckles, nudging him back toward the couch.

"Hey now; I'm older than you, monk," Oni reminds, moving willingly. "Even the prototypes of your model were only just coming out when I was a child."

"I will pretend I am not insulted by that insinuation."

“Oh, my apologies,” Oni grins, wrapping his arms around Zenyatta’s shoulders. “Allow me to make it up to you.” Pressing his body flush to the monk’s, he initiates the kiss this time, lightly tonguing the seam of Zenyatta’s ‘lips’ and humming happily at the near constant tingle of energy through his mouth.

Settling his hands on the assassin’s hips, Zenyatta lifts him easily, prompting a small squawk of surprise as Oni clings to him reactively. Then the assassin laughs quietly, allowing Zenyatta to lay him down on the couch and pulling the monk with him for another heated kiss.

“So easy to forget how strong you are with that delicate body of yours,” he murmurs, tracing the lines of the plates and struts and tubes of Zenyatta’s upper back and sliding his hands beneath cloth to follow them further.

“After the number of times I have pinned you?”

“You can add this to the tally,” Oni smirks.

“We will need a new scoreboard for this,” Zenyatta notes, sliding his hand gently up the length of Oni’s arm to his wrist. Before the curious assassin can ask his meaning, Zenyatta suddenly yanks at his wrist, bruising grip forcing it against the arm of the couch, above Oni’s head.

“Wh-”

“This is a different sort of domination, after all,” Zenyatta purrs, a low note to his tone that has Oni unintentionally melting. Leaning close enough that Oni can swear he sees into the monk’s soul through the faint blue glow of his optics, Zenyatta hums amusement. “Are you not fighting back, Oni? Content to let me command you without protest?”

“...I think we’ve already established that I am incapable of overpowering you,” Oni points out after a moment’s consideration. He hides the surge of heat in his gut at the idea of being controlled by the monk behind a small, promising grin. “Next time, I’ll have the element of surprise on my side.”

“Hm. We shall see.”

With surprising force, like the barriers irritate him, Zenyatta disrobes the assassin, never releasing his hold of Oni’s wrist. At least, not until he binds Oni’s arms behind him with his own shirt. Oni laughs breathlessly, fighting to hide the need brimming over and failing terribly.

“Should I be concerned that a monk is so kinky?” His tongue flirts along his teeth, a subconscious request, and one Zenyatta ignores.

“Everyone begins in ignorance,” he says instead. “That does not mean we must continue as such.” Oni cocks a scarred brow.

“Dare I ask where you learned?”

Before he answers, Zenyatta hums in mock thought, sliding one hand gently up the ridges and prosthetics of Oni’s chest and taking note of the fact that even ruined, the assassin’s nipples are perked and pebbled with interest. His fingertips dance along the jut of Oni’s collarbone, glide up the curve of muscle between shoulder and neck, and curl around the solid column of Oni’s throat, gripping just tightly enough to remind him of the monk’s strength.

“Research as an omnic hardly requires a partner,” he says lowly, enjoying the way Oni’s eyes glaze over with _want_. “After all, we do not experience pleasure the same way.”

“I’m not sure what I expected, but I know this isn’t it,” Oni breathes. “And yet, I am hardly disappointed. By all means, monk; use me.”

“An appalling choice of words,” Zenyatta notes, though he isn’t entirely displeased. “You must enjoy punishment if you deign to ask for it.”

“Sounds like fun,” the assassin taunts, enjoying himself immensely. “Want me to call you ‘Daddy’ too?”

“...Sarcasm is not appreciated in this instance.”

“Liar.”

Zenyatta doesn’t hesitate to tighten his grip, purposely cutting off both blood supply and air for a few short seconds. Oni’s eyes widen in surprise, but that’s all he can do before the monk releases him, head tipping.

“I apologise; did you say something? I could not hear over the sound of your surprise.”

“Now who’s sarcastic,” Oni coughs, grinning. “Do it again; I might cum without my cock getting attention.”

“You are exceptionally crude,” Zenyatta tsks.

"Maybe you should punish me."

"And give you what you desire? Would a suiting punishment not then be to forgo punishing you at all?" Oni groans at that, wiggling impatiently.

"You intend to reduce me to begging?"

"If I am?" Zenyatta tips his head just so, LEDs pulsing gently.

"Please, Zenyatta," Oni croons, half teasing and half in need.

Heat surges through wiring, giving Zenyatta pause, and he watches Oni silently for a moment, even as the assassin falters, realising what he did. There's a tension between them, simultaneously surprised, cautious, and intrigued.

"I... watched the meeting," Oni explains uncertainly, a small furrow of unease creasing his brow. Zenyatta hums shortly to interrupt, shaking his head.

"I am not surprised you know my name," he says honestly. "I made no effort to hide it. What surprised me is your willingness to heel, to submit to me, an enemy."

"A target," Oni corrects firmly. "That does _not_ make you my enemy."

"Even so, we are on different sides of this war, and still you seem... eager..." Zenyatta hesitates, not wanting to offend, but Oni merely scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"As we've established already, I am currently incapable of defeating you. If I am to be humiliated, I would rather it be on my own terms, in your bed, where at least I gain _some_ measure of satisfaction."

For a moment more, Zenyatta hesitates, deliberating, and then he settles back on Oni's thighs, surprisingly light considering his strength. He allows his hand to slide away from the assassin's throat, resting on the largest scar cutting through his chest.

"You do understand that this would not be mutual." He recognises his poor choice of words just too late to stop himself, and chirps a disgruntled sound when Oni shifts and tenses, concerned. "Wait... I did not mean- Omnics do not experience pleasure as humans do; sex is a fruitless endeavour with no more meaning than an experiment of human ability. Theoretically, it would be possible to create pleasure modules designed to stimulate us similarly to humans, but that would require omnic rights, and humans capable of-"

With incredible core strength, Oni hauls himself upright to kiss Zenyatta again; though the action itself can't physically silence the monk, it does startle him into silence, providing Oni an opportunity to interject.

"You speak too much, monk," he hums against Zenyatta's faceplate. "Experiment on me."

The man could have said outright, "Fuck me," and it would not have been nearly so potent. An intense need sears through Zenyatta's chassis, and he shoves Oni back down, one hand lingering on his shoulder while the other slides sensually down to his hip. Shifting his weight, Zenyatta presses a knee between Oni's thighs, tugging his leg up and bracing it against the back of the couch.

"Enjoying the view?" Oni teases breathlessly, amber gaze alight with excitement and anticipation. Zenyatta pauses, taking in said view.

Oni's arms are still firmly bound behind his back, forcing an arch to his body as though purposely showing off the taut muscle and refined prosthetics of his core. His skin is pale, almost an unhealthy pallor from the clear lack of sunlight, and thus his scars stand out vividly, a crosshatched patchwork of coarse red lines that speak of unbelievable viciousness in the intent behind every stroke. And yet, it all so perfectly meshes with Oni's character, like no other appearance could possibly suit him. Particularly not in this specific instance, with the impressive girth of his manhood twitching subtly against his groin, stiff and red and already pearling with pre; a match for the pebbled nubs of his nipples, all begging for even the slightest attention.

"I never thought I'd be into exhibitionism," Oni grins after a stretch of curious silence, "but the longer you stare at me like that, the stronger my urge to put on a show."

"A show?" Zenyatta muses, trailing his fingers lightly down the inside of Oni's thigh and stopping just short of touching the assassin's cock. Oni huffs faintly, rocking his hips up in a vain attempt to find friction against the monk's fingers.

"Free my hands," the assassin requests, jerking his arms slightly. "I'll put on a show for you."

"What kind of show?" Zenyatta purrs, amused.

"...Obedience," Oni answers after a moment's thought. "I'll do anything you say."

"Is that so?"

"Well... within reason," Oni laughs. "There are things I physically can't do, and I do have personal limits."

"I feel I would enjoy testing them," Zenyatta notes absently, drawing the back of a finger along the underside of Oni's cock. The gentle touch sends a jolt through the assassin's body, making him hiss and groan softly.

Before he can say anything else, a burst of static over his internal link with Mondatta makes him stop.

<< _Mondatta?_

>> _ZEN_

The urgency of the message, coupled with a sudden influx of files, tells Zenyatta all he needs to know, and he lunges off the couch.

"Zenyatta?" Oni frowns, worried.

"You lied," the monk snaps harshly, not even bothering to look back as he darts across the room to the bedroom door. It cracks when he slams through it, just in time to see a lithe figure outside the window vanish, only a pair of bullet holes in the fractured glass showing they were ever present.

Mondatta is on the floor, LEDs flickering faintly around the hole in his faceplate.

"Mondatta!" Zenyatta moves slowly, praying it's a hallucination, faulty memory, anything but reality. He steps over the shattered pieces of a vase from the sideboard, hating the symbolism.

"Z-Zen-ya-tta..." The broken, static-filled sound shreds through him, leaving him empty and horrified. He crumples beside the monk who gave him purpose in life.

"This... This is my fault." His hand shakes when he reaches out, catching himself before he touches.

"No... In-ev-vit-a-ble... Proud- of- y-you..."

Knowing what he knows, that he allowed himself to be distracted, the words are a knife through his core, rending metal and tearing wires. He can't make himself speak under the weight of his shame, and he watches in silent agony as the flickering finally dies, and Mondatta's chassis slumps, lifeless.

"... Zenyatta..." He can sense the assassin behind him, but doesn't move even to look at him.

"Leave."

"I swear, I-"

"Leave!"

"Not until I've had my say!" Oni snaps. "I had nothing to do with this, Zenyatta; I came for you, not him."

Rage like Zenyatta hasn't known in years explodes through him and he leaps to his feet, whirling to face the half-clothed assassin.

"I. DON'T. CARE." For the first time in years, his LEDs flare brilliant red. "Get out of my sight. The next time I see you, it will be your head or mine."

Oni stares for a long moment, trying to reconcile the peaceful, if stressed, monk he knew with the omnic standing in front of him now. There's a lethality to him that wasn't there before, and given how difficult it was to defeat him before, Oni knows he has no chance now; he'll get himself killed if he even tries.

"I will go. But the next time will not be the last; I will find out who did this."

Zenyatta doesn't get a chance to respond before the assassin is gone, and he lets out his pent up rage in an inhuman shriek that echoes through the resort.

⛬

The Zenyatta onstage the next morning is deceptively calm, but when the leaders enter the stage, he isn't nearly so welcoming as his master; he remains standing and silent while the others are seated.

"Last night," he says loudly over the noise of the crowd, allowing a moment for quiet before continuing. "Last night, my master and friend, Tekhartha Mondatta, was murdered; shot without remorse in his sleep. His is not the first life lost to this war, neither in battle, nor in innocence. If this is not settled here and now, it will not be the last. Though it pains me to be here rather than making preparations for his funeral, it was his last wish that I continue his work, so let us begin. Yesterday, you were each given a proposal to consider for a treaty of peace. Would either of you like to start us off with your alterations?"

"I will begin," Sojiro states placidly, "first by saying I am sorry for your loss. I cannot speak for Mondatta's character, but I know very well the pain of losing a loved one."

"Your condolences are appreciated," Zenyatta says coolly. Hanzo frowns, but this time stays silent, obediently setting forward a well-marked packet of papers at a gesture from his father.

"Your master's proposal was intriguing, but unrealistic," Sojiro says, folding his hands in front of him. "To reduce Shimada lands by even half the suggested amount is utter folly; it would wreak havoc on our economy, and thus that of the lands we occupy. We simply cannot agree to these terms."

"So you admit you are creating an empire?" Zenyatta asks casually.

"That-" Sojiro pauses, catching himself and eyes the monk narrowly. "I would not use that term specifically..."

"But you do not deny the concept."

"You are suggesting this is a bad thing," Sojiro frowns. "And yet, in history, empires have been phenomenal influences..."

"Run by tyrants who were hated more often than not," Zenyatta cuts in. "And every single empire fell, eventually. All reigns come to an end, Shimada-san; let yours be in peace, or suffer ruin as have many emperors before you."

Sojiro stares at him, stunned, and Akande chuckles, drawing Zenyatta's attention.

"You have the heart of a fighter, monk," he grins. "I like that."

"What you value means little to me," Zenyatta replies simply. "Your opinion on the proposal?"

"As Sojiro so eloquently put it, it's unrealistic." Akande holds out his hand, and Maximilien gives him the packet, which he slides lightly in front of Zenyatta. "It assumes Talon is anything more than a company of trained mercenaries working throughout Europe and the Middle East. Even as the head of the board, I have little power to conduct such changes, plausible or not; I can hardly retract my people from places I was not aware they were."

"Then you have rogue agents wreaking havoc in your name?" Zenyatta asks mercilessly.

"Of course not," Akande answers, gaze narrowing. "Our agents were ne-"

"Never there to begin with?" Zenyatta cuts in, voice a whip crack of disdain. "So the men and women caught by local authorities who admitted under oath that they belonged to your organisation were... what? Confused? Lying? Or is the lie your own, so that you bear no responsibility for the actions of your underlings?"

"Those are bold accusations, monk," Akande rumbles in warning.

"Bold?" Zenyatta returns harshly, placing his hands on the table with his head tipped in a manner that even the most oblivious could see is no less than a glare. "Bold, Ogundimu, is ordering militant strikes against civilians and believing that no one will discover your connection. Bold, is placing your people to intimidate others into cooperation to maintain your facade. Bold, is daring to remove anyone who gets in your way with no fear of consequences! _This. Ends. Now!_ Either you two will come to an agreement and make peace, or I will see your reigns end in pieces!"

Silence settles over the auditorium, heavy enough to hear the distant sounds of civilisation far beyond the walls of the resort. A muffled cough breaks the stunned quiet, and Akande leans forward, expression grim.

"Is that a _threat_ , monk?" he asks lowly.

"It is not a good look for your reputation," Sojiro adds coolly, eyeing Zenyatta with thinly veiled disgust. "And a stain on your master's."

Zenyatta's LEDs flicker ever so briefly to red; only the most perceptive gazes could catch it.

"No," he answers, startlingly calm once again as he stands upright, hands folding in front of him. "This is no threat; merely a warning. Thus far there have been two sides to this war ― battles you do not even deign to fight yourselves; rather, sending omnics who are unable to refuse to fight for you ― but you have been sloppy, here and there... You have slipped up at times; left behind evidence. Records have been gathered of those times, proof of your heinous acts that cannot be denied. Imagine, for a moment, if these records were to reach the UN. If they were to be released to the public, even. You cannot possibly believe that such proof would be denied; the hands of the national leaders have, until now, been tied by politics, red tape, bureaucratic nonsense... but everyone knows who is responsible for the war, and with proof..." He lets the tension rise slowly, turning his optics toward one, then the other. "Russia, a leader of innovation and the first to master hard light technology... Africa, where humans and omnics have joined in a united front stronger than any army... Australia, with their stubborn endurance and uniquely creative solutions... Even the Americas, though no longer as prominent a world power as in times past, still persevering in the face of adversity... How long would either of you last against so many powerful opponents? The Omnic Crisis failed. So will you."

"This is blackmail," Sojiro hisses, standing.

"Incorrect," Zenyatta replies sharply. "As I said, it is a warning. Your actions have consequences, and I am offering you a chance to mitigate or even eliminate those consequences entirely; a chance to redeem yourselves."

"You are no saint," Akande humphs, standing as well. "Nor are you worthy of being called a monk; you sought to show the world a distorted image of who we are, and instead, showed your true colours. I will not be made a mockery of. Goodbye, omnic."

While Akande walks away, Maximilien stares a moment more at Zenyatta before standing and reaching over to tap the packet of papers he brought.

"You came this close, brother. 'Tis a pity you threw it away." Without waiting for a response, he follows Akande.

"This summit is over, _machine_ ," Sojiro sneers, barely containing his rage. "To come in good faith and be assaulted with accusations and threats... I have never been so horrendously insulted. I will never forget this, omnic; you can bet on that."

Neither Shimada bothers to bid farewell, leaving Zenyatta alone on the stage, where he stands in silence while the crowd begins shuffling uneasily. Several minutes pass, and still he hasn't moved, so a murmur begins, and the crowd slowly disintegrates as individuals and groups wander away in disappointment. When only a handful remain, then he finally moves, a thinly veiled agony in his measured, careful motions as he gathers the papers and pushes in the chairs. The last few onlookers pay him no attention beyond a glance his way in reaction to movement, and he keeps his gaze downcast on his way off the stage and into the corridor leading toward his suite.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Tekhartha Zenyatta lost control of a situation."

"...You are ready to die?" Zenyatta replies, ice in his tone, as he stops walking. He doesn't turn or look around; after all, if he doesn't _see_ the assassin, then he doesn't have to follow through on his promise.

Oni seems to think the same, because he remains in place rather than moving in front of him, as he normally would.

"I've figured out who killed him," the assassin responds grimly.

"Already?" Zenyatta scoffs, sceptical.

"Assassins and hitmen share information, occasionally," Oni answers vaguely. "Her name is Widowmaker. She works for Talon." Zenyatta's grip on the papers tightens, trembling faintly, and Oni notices. "Zenyatta... She took the contract months ago, long before the summit was ever considered. She has never failed before; your master's death was inevitable. That it coincided-"

"Enough!" Zenyatta snaps, his entire frame trembling now. Oni goes silent, not wanting to anger him further, but realises a moment later when he hears a static-filled whine that the monk isn't angry. Or at least, that isn't his main emotion.

Zenyatta reaches out, stumbling against the wall with a muffled, pitched sob, and Oni's heart breaks; stepping closer, he lifts a hand and hesitantly places it on the monk's shoulder. To his surprise, Zenyatta covers it, gripping tightly, as to a lifeline.

"We knew..." The words are soft, a barely there whisper of strained vocals that wavers in the silence of the corridor. "We knew it was coming. Since the beginning of the war, he has been- he _was_ preparing me to take his place. I denied it with every part of me, and yet failed him when he truly needed me. And then I failed him again, dishonoured his final wishes, allowed myself to become so caught up in my own emotions that I ruined everything he fought for in one moment of petty hatred. He said- He said he was proud of me. His last words... And I betrayed him when it mattered most. I have not changed... I am still the murderous machine I have always been."

"Zenyatta..." His grip on Oni's hand tightens, and then pushes it away.

"I gave in to you once; I cannot afford to give in to you again."

"I'm not asking you to," Oni replies, a hint of pain beneath his words the only sign of his emotion. "It isn't safe here for you; Widowmaker and I are not the only assassins here, and both sides want you dead by the end of the day. Whatever information you have, neither of them wants it to get out. I am only here because the clan believes I am making an attempt." Zenyatta tenses, and Oni hesitates before cautiously continuing. "I... want to escort you to the UN headquarters."

Heavy silence sits between them, a palpable creature too stubborn to move and too thick to break. It shatters, however, when a child barges into the end of the corridor, shrieking delightedly while dodging the grasping hands of its frazzled mother. She catches it with a loud, relieved huff and promptly begins scolding the laughing child as she returns to from wherever they came. When the silence returns, Zenyatta lifts the papers in his hand, staring through them more than at them.

“...You would betray your clan... for me?”

“You? It can’t be for me?” The assassin’s brittle attempt at humour crumbles under the lack of response, and he sighs softly. “I am a tool to them, and nothing more. I have been since the day my brother tried to kill me. But hunting you has opened my eyes to a world I never thought I’d see; a world beyond my pain, beyond my discrimination and self-hatred. Without you, I would never have been able to forgive Hanzo for what he did to me; I would never have been able to accept who and what I have become. You helped me where no one else could, and for that, I owe you my life, and more.” Reaching out again, he slides his hand to the monk’s wrist. “Zenyatta... You were the one who told me that you must learn from your mistakes. You taught me that hatred is not strategy, and revenge is not justice. The longer you dwell on Mondatta’s death, the more it will consume you, and I cannot sit by and watch you fall prey to everything that nearly destroyed me, not when I can help you as you helped me.”

Another moment of silence falls, tight and expectant. Then Zenyatta moves his hand to cover Oni’s.

“Even the teacher can learn from his student,” he hums quietly, keeping his gaze down. “How did you become so wise?”

“By listening,” Oni huffs, relieved to have gotten through. “I recall a certain fearless omnic once saying that if you don’t change direction, you may end up where you’re heading, and I would rather you end up at the UN than running circles between stubborn old men.” That draws a rough, reluctant chuff of humour from the monk, who keeps his gaze turned down as he squeezes Oni’s hand and then steps away.

“I need to make arrangements to transport Mondatta’s body back to the monastery for a funeral. I will leave in the morning for New York.” When Oni steps forward, taking a breath to say something, he cuts in; “My window will be open.”

The invitation is clear, and Oni only hesitates a moment before nodding. Without another word between them, he vanishes, and Zenyatta returns to his suite, the tiniest spark of hope burning through the sorrow in his chest.

⛬

“It’s too quiet.”

“Is that not a good thing?” Zenyatta asks without looking up from his book. Oni ― Genji ― wasn’t there a moment ago, but he’s grown accustomed to the assassin’s flighty nature; the man comes and goes without warning, at all hours, unpredictable and yet not unwelcome.

“It is,” Oni grumbles, perching on the arm of Zenyatta’s chair. “And it isn’t... _Someone_ should have made a move by now.”

“We should be thankful they have not,” the monk points out, turning a page. “The longer we go without violence, the closer we come to success. Had I known they would be so cautious, I would have gone by plane instead.”

“No,” Oni says sharply. “That’s the most likely reason no one has made a move yet; none of them expected you to go by ship.”

“Mm. We can only hope and pray that we make it through the Suez and the Straits before they realise.”

“We’ll make it through the Suez,” the assassin grunts, slumping against Zenyatta’s shoulder with a tired sigh. “It’s Gibraltar I’m worried about.” Before he’s even finished speaking, Zenyatta has tensed up, and Oni reflexively goes still, half expecting the monk to lay him out, something he’s never had trouble doing.

A long moment of tight silence follows, until Oni realises Zenyatta has stopped turning pages. Holding his breath, he carefully sits up again. The monk shifts minutely away from Oni, ignoring the pinch in his wires of guilt when Oni lets out a soft sigh.

“There have been rumours,” the assassin bulls on, pretending nothing happened, “that some members of Overwatch are gathering again. The clan isn’t worried, but Talon has been hounding every Overwatch base they can find, the headquarters in Gibraltar, especially.”

“Then we will keep our heads down until we reach the Atlantic,” Zenyatta says simply, turning another page.

“You are entirely too optimistic about our chances of succeeding at that.”

Too late, Oni realises his mistake; Zenyatta flinches subtly at the unintended jab and slowly closes his book, wishing with every molecule of his being that things had happened differently.

Some small part of him still blames Oni for Mondatta’s death, but the rest of him knows the guilt lies squarely on his own shoulders. Without looking at the assassin, he sets the book aside and stands.

“It is not optimism,” he says quietly, striding across the tiny room to the bed. “It is cowardice.” Laying down, he faces the wall, signalling that he no longer wants to participate in this conversation.

Oni watches him for a long while, trying to think of things to say, something to encourage or assure the monk, something to make it all a joke; anything to break the solemn weight of silence, but nothing worthwhile comes to mind. Finally, he sighs and exits the room, leaving the monk to his sorrow.

And yet, after he’s gone, Zenyatta wants nothing more than for him to come back. Curling in on himself in a vain attempt to stop the trembling, he takes a deep, unneeded breath, hoping to calibrate the unstable wobbling of some unknown part in the middle of his chest.

It doesn’t work.

“Mondatta...” he whispers, vocal processes faltering and staticky. He can find no words to explain his pain and confusion, so all he does is murmur his master’s name on repeat, systems looping in a spiral of failure until he has to force stasis or risk a complete meltdown. As he shuts down, he welcomes the darkness with relief.

⛬

Fortunately, they were both right about the Suez, and Genji watches the locks recede behind them, glad to be past the first major hurdle. No one but the ship’s captain has seen Zenyatta thus far, and only a few of the crew have seen Genji, all of them too terrified by him to say anything; if they, as Zenyatta put it, keep their heads down for the resupply stop in Sicily, then perhaps they really will make it through the Straits of Gibraltar without issue.

Genji’s heart stops when he gets back to their room and hears voices beyond the door; Zenyatta’s sounds calm and coaxing, the other’s wary and uneasy. Without a second thought, he slides his wakizashi from its sheath and ever so slowly eases the door open enough to let his slender frame slip through. Fortunately, neither Zenyatta nor the other person are facing the door; the monk is facing the back wall, hands raised to the side to show he means no harm, while the intruder inexpertly holds him at gunpoint, his grip entirely wrong.

“Calm down,” Zenyatta says soothingly. “You have nothing to fear.”

“Yeah, maybe not until that _demon_ comes back!” the man, who appears to be a low-ranked crew member, returns shortly. “Stop stalling and shut down already!”

“...I cannot do that,” Zenyatta says, quieter now. The man shifts and jabs the gun to emphasise his point, despite the fact that Zenyatta can’t see it.

“I said shut down, omnic!”

“Let me rephrase...” Zenyatta says. “You do not want me to shut down.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because then there would be no one to stand between you and the demon.”

The man jolts and starts to whip around, too late; Genji slams a carbon-fiber-reinforced fist into the man’s wrist, snapping something as the gun clatters to the ground and he snatches the man’s arm, wrenching it fiercely up behind his back and bringing his wakizashi up to slice the man’s throat.

“Stop!” Zenyatta’s fingers are curled between the blade and the man’s throat, his optical sensors dimmed and his head tipped down; as instantaneous as Genji’s attack had been, Zenyatta’s reaction was still faster. And that without looking.

“No one can know you’re here,” Genji reminds, modulating his voice.

“Enough innocent blood has been spilled, Oni,” Zenyatta returns, grip on the blade tightening. “Do not add to it.”

“One life cannot outweigh the lives of thousands or even millions more,” Genji argues, ignoring the whimper of the man in his grasp. “If they find you before you reach your destination, the war continues. Countless others will die. You want that on your conscience?”

“I have seen enough death...”

“Then leave your optics off!” Genji snaps, ripping the wakizashi from Zenyatta’s fist and shifting to ram it point first through the base of the man’s skull and up through his brain. The fine-edged blade slices cleanly between bones, tearing apart soft tissue and bursting through an eye socket, splattering blood over both of their faces, but especially Zenyatta’s. The monk steps back with a reactive flinch, and then lets out a soft, resigned sigh.

“He did not have to die.”

“Neither did Mondatta,” Genji reminds ruthlessly, yanking his blade free and letting the man fall to the floor. Crouching, he uses a portion of the man’s uniform to clean his wakizashi, turning the modulation off. “This is still war, Zen. Until it ends, there will be meaningless deaths at every turn. I will not let you get yourself killed for your bleeding heart.”

Zenyatta doesn't answer, and when Genji finishes cleaning his blade, he cuts away a clean piece of cloth and sheaths the weapon as he stands. The monk steps back when he steps forward, reminding him just how powerful Zenyatta's hearing is, but he doesn't falter; reaching out, he grabs Zenyatta's shoulder and holds him still to reach up and begin scrubbing blood from his faceplate. Zenyatta bears it silently, but pulls away the moment Genji lets go.

"... I'll dump the body overboard," Genji says, hating this impassable chasm between them. "Stay-"

"No. He deserves a proper burial. Inform the captain of the mistake and have his body stored safely until it can be sent home to his family."

"It's too risky," Genji starts.

"And having him vanish mysteriously is not?" Zenyatta cuts in. "The crew will notice his disappearance, and you said yourself that several have seen you; they will think their ship haunted and jump ship at the first port, which is far more attention than we can afford to attract. Let the captain decide what to tell his men, but leave the body so there are options." Zenyatta hesitates and then steps past Genji, crouching beside the man before rebooting his optics. Laying a hand gently on the man's chest, he sighs softly. "He has a family, Genji. His wife of three months is pregnant with their first child, and they live in Talon territory. He hoped that by exposing me, he could protect them, and his mother and brother; he believed Talon would reward him for my capture, and his family would never be threatened again."

"He was a fool," Genji says shortly.

"We are all fools for something," Zenyatta replies, brushing a thumb over the stitched name tag on the man's breast pocket. "Nazari chose the right thing to be a fool for."

Genji dislikes the idea of leaving behind evidence of his presence, but Zenyatta won't be swayed, and he knows he can't bring himself to deny the monk, so he huffs a grunt of mild annoyance and steps over the body to open the door, turning around to pick it up.

"Please be respectful of the dead, Genji," Zenyatta requests quietly, turning away.

"Lock the door behind me this time," Genji mutters. "I will knock five times, and then once, when I return."

"Thank you." The soft words are heartfelt, and tear through Genji's chest like claws through tissue; he can't find a response as he takes the corpse from the room.

⛬

It was supposed to be a quick run for food; Zenyatta might not need it, but Genji still has a majority of human insides and thus requires food on occasion. The ship would be docked for the day anyway, unloading shipments for Sicily and loading up for Portugal and America, so Genji thought it safe to make a quick run for a few supplies of his own. He even had it in mind to purchase a few books for Zenyatta to read on the trip, and made sure to leave his oni mask and more obvious weapons behind as a result; no sense in standing out like a sore thumb when no one would look twice at a supposed Muslim woman purchasing food and books.

However, that's not what happened, and now Genji is being hunted by another assassin. How they figured out where he was is a mystery, but he refuses to lead the assassin back to Zenyatta, which means he's been running through the streets like a madwoman, drawing baffled looks and hesitant queries in unfamiliar languages that he completely ignores, trying to keep ahead of the assassin and leading them away from the docks. The streets are a maze, and he's worried he'll get lost, but honestly he's more afraid of forgetting where he stashed the food and books, so he just does his best to remember where he is and where he's been, still dodging around corners and wriggling past crowds.

Then, stupidly, he turns into an empty alley off a lesser travelled street, and before he can backtrack, a gun muzzle is jammed into his spine.

"Unless you want to end your oh so mysterious existence here, Oni, I suggest you cooperate." The voice is unfamiliar, but he expected as much. They're also speaking in near perfect Japanese with just enough of an accent for him to know they weren't born and raised in his home country.

"It seems I am at a disadvantage here," he says casually, not bothering to modulate his voice to female, as he did to talk to the locals. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"The only thing you need to know, demon, is that you were unlucky to run into me, and now I get to have a little fun before I turn you in."

"Turn me in?"

"Oh you don't know?" the man chuckles. "There's a bounty on your head, Oni. Shimada Clan wants you brought back dead or alive for a 250 million dollar reward. That kind of money makes a loooottt of people sit up and take notice. And lucky me, I didn't even have to go looking; you just dropped right into my lap."

Of course the Clan wants him dead. Or returned so they can carve out his intestines themselves.

Hanzo will probably have the honour of finishing what he started.

But Genji isn't giving up without a fight. Not while Zenyatta is still in danger and the fate of the world at large depends on the monk getting to New York. And no one, not even another assassin, is going to keep him from protecting Zenyatta.

Ducking suddenly to the side, Genji whips around to attack the assassin, but the man is ready for him, if slightly startled. The gun goes flying, but Genji gets tackled, and in his heavy disguise, he doesn't have the mobility to fight back the way he normally would, which allows the assassin to pin him down with relative ease. Both are panting heavily after the short but intense struggle, Genji only slightly less so; he suspects the other may also have some augmentation.

"You know," the man smirks, his slick, too charming features twisted with greed and desire as he uses the clothing to keep Genji immobile. "I've had my way with a lot of women in burkas; I think it's time to broaden my horizons a little bit."

Fury rises, and Genji doesn't even bother trying to respond as he bucks sharply to the side, almost throwing the assassin off. Somehow the man keeps his place, punching Genji sharply across the jaw, a blow that hurts far more without his mask to absorb part of it. Slightly dazed, Genji tries to blink away the stars, thrashing more out of instinct than actual attempt to get away. The man is tearing the clothing, but in such a way that keeps Genji immobilised, which speaks for just how much experience he has with raping Muslim women.

Then, suddenly, his weight is lifted and thrown off. Genji takes the opportunity and wrenches free of the torn cloth, only to see none other than Zenyatta thrown up against the wall by the assassin. The monk ducks and slips nimbly past the man's attempt to block him in, and with an ease that's almost too graceful, snaps his elbow into the man's spine, knocking forward into the wall himself. A jab to his neck and a knee in the side of his thigh drop him like a house of cards, gasping in strangled pain. Zenyatta has him pinned the next instant, orbs hovering in a manner that almost seems threatening.

"Tell your employer whatever you like, but withdraw from your contract and leave us be," the monk warns coolly in English.

"You're the fucking omnic," the assassin sneers, still sounding slightly winded. He struggles, but stops when Zenyatta poises a fist. "...You wouldn't... You're a monk."

"Care to bet?" Zenyatta offers calmly. "Peace without action is hardly worth the breath used to speak the words. And in case it has escaped your notice, we are currently at war."

The man pales a shade, but dares to make a defiant move, slamming a fist into Zenyatta's side and bucking upward to throw him off. They tumble over, putting the assassin on top for an instant, but he must realise he has no chance, because he immediately lunges to his feet and runs, disappearing even as Zenyatta jumps up in one lithe movement and readies to fight until he sees the man is gone.

Genji, staring in amazement, jolts back reflexively when Zenyatta suddenly whirls and leaps at him, only to be caught up against the wall in a tight, almost suffocating embrace.

"You fool..." the monk says quietly, vocals wavering faintly.

"Zen...?"

"What would I have done if you-" Zenyatta breaks off, tightening his hold for a moment before suddenly letting go and stepping back, optics dimmed. "We should go back to the ship."

Genji doesn't know what exactly came over him, but he reaches out as Zenyatta turns to leave and grabs the monk's arm, yanking him back and shoving him up against the wall to kiss him. The spark is delayed, but present, and tingles pleasantly across his teeth and tongue as he presses himself flush against Zenyatta's body, for once not caring that he's half naked with his scars exposed to the world. He knows that Zenyatta doesn't think his scars hideous, and for right this moment, that's enough; it's electrifying to be so visible, and in a way that makes him surprisingly giddy.

"Genji..." Zenyatta speaks softly, vocals unhindered by the kiss.

"Look at me, Zen," he murmurs against metal, sliding a hand up to cup the monk's jaw. "Turn on your optics."

"No." There's ragged emotion behind that word and it only serves to make him more determined.

"Why not?"

"...I promised," Zenyatta whispers, fingers gliding up his arm to curl around his wrist but not pulling his hand away. "Your head or mine."

Genji can't help the faint laugh that tumbles off his lips as he presses them to the seam of Zenyatta's faceplate again and again.

"You never specified," he points out between kisses, "which head." Just in case, he rocks his hips against Zenyatta's to make sure his meaning is clear.

For a moment, the monk doesn't respond in any way, and Genji hesitates, worried he went too far, but before he can put space between them and apologise, Zenyatta grabs his waist and turns, shoving him up against the wall in his own place, optics flaring bright and beautifully blue.

"I never expected to use this feature of my current body," he hums, abruptly sure of himself now that he's made up his mind. Genji almost asks what feature, but hardly even opens his mouth to do so before Zenyatta...

Does the same.

Stunned, Genji stares in blank awe as the seam parts, revealing countless cords and tubes forming a tunnel that leads down into Zenyatta's neck. Something clear and sweet smelling drips from between the cords, coating them in a viscous film not unlike saliva.

"Would you believe this body was intended to be a... 'household' model, for private use?" Zenyatta slides gracefully to his knees, and Genji can only watch him go, too taken aback to do or say anything. "There are three primary features to it that I have never used, until this moment."

It's odd to hear the monk speak with an opened but unmoving mouth, and that takes up just enough of Genji's attention that he only notices in passing the sensation of Zenyatta's dexterous fingers undoing his clothes, until they curl around his half hard cock.

"Zen!" he gasps, twitching. Heat surges in his gut as he stands speechless and watches the monk purposefully devour the entire length of him, fluid cool and smooth against warm skin. Then he cries out in unexpected pleasure as the cords and tubing constrict around him, tightening and swirling first one way, then the other. His hands jump to the back of Zenyatta's head without his conscious approval, and Zenyatta only hums acknowledgement.

A pulse runs through the cords; Genji almost cums right then and there. Zenyatta pulls back and sinks down again, torturously slow given the undulation of cords around him, and Genji struggles not to cry out in bliss.

"How intriguing..." Zenyatta murmurs softly, hands trailing down the insides of his thighs and gliding back up to his hips to drag Genji closer for a particularly deep thrust. "It is a rare thing for you to be speechless."

"You'd rather I ruin the moment being crude?" Genji pants, trembling under the burn of pleasure getting hotter with every pulse.

"I look forward to hearing your cries when I finally break you," Zenyatta says, 'throat' pulsing more quickly. Genji gasps again, clutching at Zenyatta's head and trying desperately not to scream. The monk’s hands slide up and down Genji’s sides, soothing yet titillating, fingertips dragging like a ghostly promise to mark, and it does something to him; he lets out a strangled moan, throwing his head back against the wall and rocking his hips forward, shuddering under the wash of heat caused by the play of Zenyatta’s throat against sensitive flesh.

“Zenyatta... Please...”

“Please what?” Zenyatta slows, and Genji groans, instinctively dragging him closer.

“Please... Don’t stop...”

“Is that all?” Zenyatta humphs, throat tightening almost painfully around Genji. “Why would I halt mid-experiment?”

“Oh _fuck_...” Genji’s voice quivers with heady need, but he can’t find it in himself to care how quickly he’s falling apart under the monk’s touch. Zenyatta hesitates for a moment, and then purrs in amusement.

“You _like_ it...” he notes, intrigued. “Being used? Being nothing more than an experiment for my entertainment?”

“Zenyatta!” Genji whines, burning with embarrassed desperation at every word.

“You do,” Zenyatta confirms, throat tightening sharply. “Incredible... A perfect toy...”

That’s it. Genji bites his fist, trying and failing to keep back the cry of bliss forced past his lips by the explosion of white-hot ecstasy. His entire body tenses, locking up so he doesn’t writhe or collapse under the lava wash of pleasure that leaves him completely empty and out of it. He’s vaguely aware of loosening up, of the world tilting around him, of pressing against Zenyatta’s sturdy frame...

As he comes back to himself, he realises Zenyatta is carrying him, bridal style, the remains of his disguise draped carefully around him to hide his scars. The monk’s jaw is back in place, no sign of their tryst in sight, and Genji can’t help but reach up to trace the seam of his faceplate and jaw.

“I should be appalled,” he whispers, resting his head against the monk’s shoulder and sighing contentedly. “I didn’t know I had that kind of interest...”

“Being my little experiment?” Zenyatta hums, sounding more like himself than he has since the summit.

“Fuck...” is all the answer Genji can give, heat sweeping up his neck and into his cheeks. Zenyatta laughs softly and holds him a little closer.

⛬

As the last Portuguese port disappears into the horizon, Zenyatta allows himself to relax. With the exception of the assassin in Sicily and the poor young man who took a wrong turn into his room, nothing has happened.

Nothing to cause concern, at least. He basks in the knowledge that they're home free now as he turns away from the porthole to face the bed, where Genji is tied wrists-to-ankles, propped up with his knees spread and a blindfold over his eyes. Neither the blindfold nor the rope are tight enough that the assassin can't get free in a matter of moments if he so chose, but he clearly adores the feeling, if the hard red rod between his legs is anything to go by.

Besides, Genji asked for it. Literally; Zenyatta hadn't even considered the thought of tying someone up until Genji hesitantly requested it, gaze averted sheepishly. And now that they're safe, with days of travel still to go, he has no qualms about testing the man's limits.

Some part of him still wriggles with guilt every time he even thinks about playing with Genji, and it prevents him from enjoying it as much as maybe he could, but at the same time, toying with the man brings a sense of calm to his chaos; revealing a piece of his last secret in that Sicilian alley and wrenching so beautiful an orgasm from Genji... he hadn't felt so in control of anything since the summit, until this moment. Playing with Genji, testing his limits, creating an experiment not just for his own interest but for Genji to explore things he's never tried before; it all calms him, lets him think more clearly than he has in a long time.

He considers that as he stands beside the bed, watching Genji sit in such perfect obedience. He absently weighs his newfound method of logic against the everpresent gnawing guilt while he takes note of the man's relaxed posture and even breaths.

"This is no good," he sighs, making Genji tense and shift.

"Why not?"

"Your senses are too well tuned," Zenyatta hums, tucking a finger beneath the blindfold and pulling it down. "I need a good set of noise cancelling headphones." Genji looks up, a spark of hopeful interest in his pretty amber gaze, and Zenyatta gently caresses his cheek. "I am sorry it did not work as well as hoped."

"I'm still hard, aren't I?" Genji smirks, nuzzling into Zenyatta's hand. Almost without thinking, Zenyatta slaps him lightly for his crudeness, but immediately regrets it, hating the look of shock on Genji's face. He starts to apologise, but Genji cuts in, awed excitement in his voice. "Do that again."

"Do... what?" Zenyatta asks, hoping he doesn't mean...

"Hit me."

"Wh- No." Drawing back his hand completely, Zenyatta shakes his head, reaching for an orb. "It was reactive and unintentional."

"Please, Zenyatta... I've always enjoyed our fights, but I never thought of connecting that feeling to... this."

"No," he repeats firmly, pulling a string of Harmony from deep inside himself and tying it to the orb as he sets it to hover over Genji's shoulder, where it bathes him in a warm golden healing glow. The first time he did this, in the early days of their rivalry, when the assassin was too desperate to kill him to keep in mind his own limitations, Genji couldn't stop staring at the orb, and after, he was more cautious in his approach, which led to many a conversation, and eventually, to here. This time, Genji hardly gives it a second glance.

"Why not?" he almost demands. "You have this-" he shrugs his shoulder a bit to indicate the orb, "-and you know the limits of your strength, don't you? And if you go too far, I can tell you to stop."

"I do not, in fact, know the limits of my physical strength," Zenyatta corrects, crossing his arms in disapproval. "This is not my original body, and not even the limiters placed on this form can overcome my coding should something happen. I will not risk it."

"Then use only the strength you _do_ know," Genji persists. "You have had no problem with literally picking me up and throwing me around; what's the difference now?"

"Besides the fact that you are naked and not fighting back?"

"I _want_ you to," he says, frustration growing. "Isn't that enough?"

"...Genji, I do not trust myself not to hurt you," Zenyatta explains quietly. "When we fought, I knew you could protect yourself; I could let go and not worry so much about holding back as I do in order not to crush a person's hand with a simple handshake. And..." Hesitating, he considers the ramifications of telling the truth, and decides communication is more important than his own security. "Truthfully, I am still grieving. A small part of me still blames you for that grief, and I do not wish to tempt myself with revenge."

Genji goes quiet, thinking, and that's better than Zenyatta expected; he'd been readying himself for an argument, but the man is well and truly taking into account his words and feelings.

"I _am_ to blame," he says after a long moment, lifting his gaze to meet Zenyatta's. "I distracted you at a critical time for my own selfish desires, and because of that, someone important to you died. But I still want you, and I think maybe... maybe I _want_ to be punished, to serve penance for my pride and my selfishness. I..." The mottled flush returns as his gaze drops to the side. "I want you to hurt me until you feel better."

A terrible knot twists up wires or cords or something deep in Zenyatta's chest, and he hates that he didn't notice sooner just how much guilt Genji placed on himself from the mild resentment Zenyatta carried.

“Oh, Genji...” he murmurs, reaching out to cup the man’s scarred cheeks. “I am so sorry I made you feel this way... You are not to blame, no matter how much I want to; I am projecting my own guilt and shame onto you simply for being with me when it happened.”

“I distracted you-”

“I _let_ myself be distracted,” he cuts in firmly. “The blame is entirely my own.”

Genji clenches his jaw this time, lifting out of Zenyatta’s hands and turning away. Zenyatta watches him for a moment and then sighs, recalling his orb now that it’s clearly unneeded.

“Use your words, Genji; I do not understand ‘temper tantrum.’”

“It’s not a tantrum,” the assassin scowls, shifting free of his bindings and settling back against the wall, apparently unbothered by his nakedness, though his arousal has long since flagged. “You’re willfully ignoring the truth because you can’t handle your own guilt. Don’t interrupt me. You wanted me to speak; well now I’m speaking, so shut up and listen. We both made mistakes that night; there is plenty of blame to go around. But Mondatta was a dead man walking, and by your own words, we all knew it, especially Mondatta. It was _going_ to happen, and that it did when I made advances on you is purely coincidence; if you had turned me away, maybe he would have survived the night. _Maybe_ . I may have distracted you at a crucial moment, but his days were numbered, and that clock runs down fast. Right now, so are yours, and I don’t want to see it hit zero, but I can hardly sleep because I fear the moment I close my eyes, someone is going to jump on the chance to corner you somewhere. I’m tired, I’m irritable, and you’re being stupidly difficult because of whatever skewed sense of responsibility you feel toward a dead man! He’s _dead_ , Zenyatta; Mondatta is _dead_ , and nothing you do now will ever change that fact, so stop living like you have to atone to him!”

This time, Zenyatta really slaps him, every wire tingling with oversensitivity and every process running in double time.

“Show respect for the dead.” The voice is his own, but the tone is unlike anything even he thought himself capable of, and it makes him falter. Genji touches the red mark on his cheek, features hardening, and then stands, shouldering roughly past Zenyatta and dressing quickly. Zenyatta is still off kilter when Genji puts his swords on and grabs his mask.

Neither says a word as he leaves, the door closing with a heavy, forbidding clank behind him.

⛬

They walk on eggshells around one another for a few days after that. Zenyatta watches Genji whenever he’s around, trying to think how best to apologise, but still stinging from his words. Genji isn’t in the room much anyway, and he won’t let Zenyatta leave, so instead, he spends his endless hours of free time first by reading the two books Genji so thoughtfully bought for him in Sicily, until he finishes them, and then with repeated attempts to meditate.

The closest he comes to success is an unintentional stasis.

Frustrated after another fruitless attempt, Zenyatta smacks his pillow with a chuffed noise of irritation, promptly grabbing it and pulling it to his chest as he curls up in the corner.

“I used to be good at meditation,” he mutters to himself, burrowing into the pillow. Then he glances at the door, which hasn’t opened since Genji stopped in to eat something last night. “...What do I do now, Mondatta? We are always in conflict, fighting over every issue, but drawn together by some... inexplicable pull... Like binary stars circling toward a black hole.” He squeezes the pillow tighter. “I must be going crazy to continue speaking to your ghost...”

A horrendous thought occurs to him suddenly, and he locks up, momentarily overwhelmed by the mere idea of it...

If he can no longer meditate, if he truly is losing himself, will he become what he once was? A ruthless killing machine incapable of emotion?

A shudder of terror crawls through him and he clutches the pillow tight enough to fear tearing it. He jolts when Genji slips into the room with a soft sigh, and stares at the man, frozen.

“I want to apologise for-” Genji breaks off when he actually looks at Zenyatta, striding quickly across the room. “Zen? What happened? Are you alright?”

“I- No...?”

“What happened?” he asks again, kneeling beside the bed.

Zenyatta’s mind skims over his memory files, and he shudders, tempted to put a partition on them and lock them away. The weakness that temptation creates has him pushing the pillow aside and falling forward into Genji, catching him in a tight embrace even as he jolts reactively backward. When he does nothing else but clutch at Genji, the assassin relaxes and shifts up onto the bed with Zenyatta half in his lap.

"What happened?" he asks once more, this time in gentle Japanese. Zenyatta doesn't answer immediately, but when he does, it's in kind.

"...I miss him. More than just my mentor; he was my friend, my confidant... my saviour."

"Saviour?" Genji prods, coaxing him to continue.

"...You are aware of my violent history," Zenyatta explains softly, switching back to English so there is no miscommunication, and keeping his faceplate buried in Genji's neck for the excuse not to feel his gaze.

"It has been mentioned..."

The topic of his past was discussed vaguely on a number of occasions, Zenyatta never willing to dole out everything at once and instead choosing to drop small nuggets for Genji to piece together as he would. Now, however, he hesitantly dares to pull back the veil.

"I was a mercenary, an omnic built to kill and destroy whatever I was set toward. Null Sector was built around me and others like me by angry, jealous omnics eager to see humanity fall. When the Omnic Crisis was halted, we went into hiding, recouping and expanding, and then testing the waters before eventually returning full force. With Overwatch disbanded, there was no one who could truly stop us, and a second Omnic Crisis threatened. But already Talon and the Shimada Clan had begun establishing themselves, and Null Sector became divided, uncertain who to support, or whether to get involved at all. At the peak of our strength, we stopped ourselves, crumbling from within. And in the midst of it, I met Mondatta. I was reeling from the sudden collapse of my people, and I did not want to kill a fellow omnic; that hesitation saved my soul... Mondatta knew what I was, and still he treated me with the same grace and charm he treated all people, human and omnic. His words... moved something inside me, and I came to question everything I was. I sought him out in private and left two days later to find a decommissioned body to replace my own. It took us almost a fortnight to move my consciousness from the shell of a killer to the frame of a monk, and I took my vows that very night. I-" He finally falters, and his next words come out a quiet drone of regret. "I broke them in Sicily."

"Which vows?"

"Above all, strive to do no harm, to prevent it from befalling others, and to heal the aftermath. Do only what is necessary to preserve life and send the attacker away in peace."

"You saved my life, Zenyatta," Genji points out. "I think that follows your vow."

"I attacked him," the monk argues bitterly, sitting back. "I attacked him unnecessarily, and I very nearly chased after him to finish the job. I wanted to kill him, Genji."

"And I have killed thousands."

"You are not bound by vows!" he snaps before Genji can continue. The assassin goes quiet, mild irritation radiating off his soul. Zenyatta looks away with a mirthless laugh. "I do not think it possible for us not to fight..."

"Zenyatta," Genji says softly, gently coaxing him to look up again. "You didn't kill him. No one has to know your intention because in the end, he lives, and so do we. As far as the world knows, you kept your vow."

"But _I_ know. I-"

"Then do better," Genji interjects firmly. "How many times am I going to have to quote you on this? Learn from your mistakes. Maybe you're not human, but that doesn't mean you won't make them."

An argument is already waiting on Zenyatta's metaphorical tongue, but he stops and swallows it. Taking a breath to calibrate against, he repeats Genji's words in his head several times, until at last they begin to sink in; it will be a while before he truly accepts them, perhaps a long while, but it won't ever happen if he doesn't start somewhere.

"Once again, the teacher learns from his student," he purrs quietly, taking Genji's hand from his jaw to spark a kiss against the palm.

"You should take back control," Genji teases, arousal piquing. "I might get a big head."

"You would get a big head whether either of us is in control," Zenyatta retorts, amusement rising up in place of his anxiety and frustration. "The only question is 'Which head?'"

Genji moans softly, hardening beneath Zenyatta's hip. He opens his mouth, clearly ready for another smart remark, but Zenyatta precludes it by grabbing his shoulders and forcing him down on the bed, his head narrowly avoiding the wall.

"That said," he hums casually, "you could stand to be taken down a notch." Hunger flares in Genji's eyes, and he meekly remains in place while Zenyatta stands.

"A repeat of Sicily, but in reverse?" he offers hopefully.

"I had something else in mind..." Zenyatta says lightly, tilting his head as he eyes the man halfway laid out across the bed. "Strip; then lay down properly."

Immediately, Genji scrambles to obey, removing his blades and all but tearing off his clothes. He dumps them all rather unceremoniously to the floor and drags the pillow under his head as he stretches out, already half hard in anticipation.

"Good," Zenyatta approves, nodding. "Stay there."

With slow, deliberate care, he strips off the pants that make up the majority of his outfit, and then takes one of the orbs from the ring circling his neck and fills it with Harmony, setting it loose above Genji. The added seconds it takes to do that result in a squirming assassin whose pleading gaze is trained on the juncture where slender legs meet body.

"You are staring," Zenyatta chides gently, taking time to fold the pants, as well as Genji's clothes, setting them aside purposefully and taking note of the grimace of stymied desire.

"You're taunting me," the assassin replies, almost pouting.

"I am making you wait," Zenyatta corrects, placing katana and wakizashi respectfully with the clothes.

"You're punishing me," Genji realises, a thinly veiled shudder gripping him with pleasure. Already, he's leaking pre, arousal blatant and needy.

Zenyatta doesn't respond this time, the lack of response an answer in itself. The paradoxically delighted frustration this causes is precisely the reaction he was looking for, and he purrs in contented amusement as he kneels on the bed and takes his time positioning himself between Genji's thighs.

"What are the rules?" Genji asks, breathlessly eager.

"First, establish a safeword," Zenyatta states, idly drawing Genji's knees up and shifting to nudge his own beneath Genji's thighs. "I have been remiss in requiring that of you."

"I don't need a-"

"Genji." The low, sharp tone silences him, and Zenyatta doesn't move, waiting; well aware of the mild irritation in amber eyes.

"...Sparrow," Genji says finally.

"May I ask why?" Zenyatta asks lightly, adjusting slightly and trailing soft touches along seams where metal meets metal and metal meets flesh. Genji shivers, eyes rolling back for a moment and breath catching.

"N- Later," he gasps. "Please, Zenyatta..."

"Hands above your head," Zenyatta orders, taking pleasure in the comfort of how easy it is to slip into this role; nothing else matters at this moment, nothing but the two of them. "If you move them, the experiment is over. Do you understand?"

"Yes!"

"Good." Leaning over, Zenyatta braces one hand at Genji's shoulder, gripping his hip with the other. "It is amazing how easily you melt under my touch..." To prevent a retort, he slides his hand inward and down over Genji's groin, prompting a strangled noise of need and an aborted bucking motion.

" _Fuck_ , Zen!"

"In spite of the damage done to your body, you are incredibly sensitive."

"Maybe it's just you," Genji manages, already breathing heavily, amber gaze struggling to focus on him.

Instead of answering, Zenyatta gathers energy at his fingertips and gives him a little shock on the thigh. Genji jolts, startled, and stares back at him, blinking and entirely speechless.

"Toys should not backtalk," Zenyatta says calmly, cataloguing the hitched breath, the rapid heartbeat, the blown pupils; all signs of growing arousal, and signs that Genji is enjoying this at least as much as he.

"I just want you to play with me," Genji grins, finding his tongue again far too quickly. He rolls his hips forward tauntingly, back arching to show off his body, and his cock in particular, making his meaning plain.

"So demanding for a thing to be used at my leisure," Zenyatta notes, rising up on his knees and bringing his hands to Genji's thighs in a slow, sensual slide toward his own hips. It works as intended, silencing whatever the assassin might have said as amber eyes drop again to the juncture of Zenyatta's legs, hungry and eager.

He makes a show of it, watching Genji's every twitch and jolt of excitement as he takes his time removing the modesty panel and dropping it atop the clothes. He makes note of the change in Genji's breathing, the stutter of his heartbeat under the surge of adrenaline caused by the extension of the second unused feature of this body.

Genji groans aloud with desire, knees shifting apart in silent plea for the short, thick phallic instrument.

"Zenyatta..." The word is a desperate, broken request, and he very nearly disobeys the order to keep his hands overhead.

"Still, Genji," Zenyatta chides, raising a hand as the seam of his faceplate splits and opens. Genji stares, rapturous, while he puts two fingers into the constantly lubricated tube, purposefully coating them in a liberal layer of the slick, oily fluid intended for exactly this sort of use. The seam seals with an inaudible click as he lowers his hand between Genji's thighs.

"Oh fuck..." the assassin gasps when breached. It's obvious from his reaction and tightness that this hasn't been done in a very long time, and Zenyatta tags confirmation of his initial suspicions, checking that the orb is still in place and keeping Genji healed.

"I am almost regretful to be unable to experience sensation as humans do," Zenyatta notes lightly, keeping his tone light and conversational, at odds with the firm yet gentle sensuality of one finger deep inside of his assassin, soon to be two. "I would take great enjoyment, I think, of using you for my own pleasure whilst denying you yours."

The words have exactly the intended effect; a surge of adrenaline through Genji, his body tightening and then opening with a shudder. His hands clutch frantically at the pillow beneath his head, searching for some foundation, and finding it only when a particular thrust sends him scrabbling farther up, fingers curling around the frame of the bed. Intrigued, Zenyatta mimics the angle and pressure of the thrust, mechanically precise, and is rewarded with another violent jolt, this time accompanied by a strangled sound of overwhelmed bliss.

"Oh?" he purrs, clinically calm in his observations. "Did I find it? Your prostate?" The mottle flush spreading over Genji's features is answer enough, but the witty retort he expects never comes.

"Please," Genji begs instead, voice pleasure-broken and pitched. "Break me. Split me in half; fuck me up, Zen..."

"Such a vulgar tongue," Zenyatta chides, half expecting to be called out for his own distant, scientific approach but knowing Genji is far beyond that now. He considers for a moment, then taps the fingers of his free hand to Genji's lips. "Occupy it with something else."

Genji reacts instantly, without hesitation or reservation, lips parting and tongue tracing the smooth metal to draw three fingers into his mouth, fully occupying himself; Zenyatta actually wishes for a moment that he could feel something more than the difference of temperature against his fingertips.

"There is a term for this, is there not?" he says, carefully working a second finger in below. "Being- to borrow your vocabulary- fucked from both ends?" A shudder runs through Genji, glazed amber momentarily hidden. Zenyatta takes the opportunity to lean over him, voice lowered and pitched just so... "Is it still a spitroast with only fingers?"

Genji spasms, a muffled, broken groan escaping as his body clamps down on Zenyatta's fingers, cock pulsing and releasing, untouched.

"How shameful," Zenyatta tsks, sitting back and letting his fingers slip from Genji's lax mouth to trace the lines of his body and smear cum into skin and metal. "Such a mess... Did I give you permission to cum yet?"

The faint tremour of aftershocks through the assassin, coaxed and encouraged by the continued curl and twist of Zenyatta's fingers, cease suddenly; Genji goes rigid with dawning realisation, eyes widening as clarity returns.

"I'm sorry-" he begins raggedly, only to break off with an overstimulated gasp as Zenyatta pointedly presses into his prostate with both fingers.

"You will be," Zenyatta promises as Genji bucks, a choked whine falling from his lips. The orgasm loosened his muscles, and Zenyatta has little trouble easing a third finger in to test the give.

"Zen, please," Genji breathes desperately, trembling.

"Look at you," Zenyatta clucks, sliding his hand up to the base of the harmless assassin's neck and rubbing a thumb lightly along the ridge of his throat. "Falling apart from mere words... and already begging for more. So weak to my will."

"Yes..."

Satisfied that he'll be able to enter without issue, Zenyatta withdraws his fingers and instead curls his hand around the base of Genji's cock, thumb hooked beneath his balls as well. He squeezes slowly, testing, and idly hums, "I ought to leave you like this; explore the limits of your control, and see how long I can keep you on edge with my words alone."

"Indefinitely." The word comes in a punched-out breath, and Genji struggles not to squirm, hips rocking minutely in search of pleasure or friction or penetration, or perhaps some combination of the three.

"Undoubtedly," Zenyatta replies, amused. He moves his hand from the base of Genji's neck to his own appendage, starting the protocols for its use and stroking it slowly, half in practical measure to massage the unused circuitry into usefulness and half to see Genji's response. He even drops in a small, appreciative hum as he does so, watching his assassin closely for a reaction.

Predictably, Genji shudders, cock twitching and leaking pre, already game for another round. Glazed amber eyes are fixed unwaveringly on the show, desperation oozing from every pore.

Surprisingly, he says nothing, lips slightly parted, tongue visibly pressed to teeth; Zenyatta has no doubt that he's eager for a reversal of Sicily. Even as he makes a mental note of it, Genji swallows, and his tongue presses down, mouth opening just a bit more, as though in preparation. It doesn't seem to be a conscious decision, however, and his attention is still fixed entirely on the slow drag of Zenyatta's hand up and down the length of the extraneous limb between his legs.

"Even silent, your lust is deafening," he notes. "I must confess, I do not see the appeal of such a pointless interaction. And yet, you still beg for it. Is the pleasure of it truly so incredible?"

"Yes," Genji breathes without hesitation, gaze skipping up to meet his. "Especially with someone you care about."

That sets Zenyatta back, and he pauses, head tipping in surprised curiosity. The moment of quiet seems to be enough for Genji to realise what he said, and he flushes a beautifully patchy scarlet, shifting his elbows together to hide his face so he won't disobey the order to keep his hands above his head.

" _Kuso_...."

"Explain," Zenyatta bids, moving his hands to rest on Genji's hips in clear signal that nothing will continue until he complies.

"I... like you," Genji mutters reluctantly in Japanese. "I have for a long time, but I didn't want to burden you while you already have so much to worry about."

"Your emotions have never been a burden to me, Genji," Zenyatta says gently in kind, unsure exactly what he's supposed to feel himself, and simply speaking truth instead. "A challenge, certainly, but never a burden." Genji's blush deepens and he squirms a little, this time not from arousal.

At least, not in the same way.

"You don't feel the same, though," he points out, in English now.

"Omnics do not feel emotion quite the same way as humans," Zenyatta replies, following suit. "The same stimulus does not elicit the same response, generally speaking. However..." Dragging at Genji's hips to bring them closer together, he leans over the startled assassin, bracing a hand at his shoulder to kiss him. "That does not mean I do not have feelings for you." He punctuates the statement with a carefully calculated thrust, sliding home perfectly and punching a strangled gasp from his assassin. "I feared losing you... in Sicily. I should have stayed here, in safety; I know that. But you are more important to me than anything else, and I would rather have to find another way to end this war than to bury you, too."

"Zen..." Genji chokes, gripping the bed frame tightly and wrapping his legs around Zenyatta's waist.

"Still, Genji," he coaxes, gathering energy in his fingertips and trailing it down the man's body; muscles twitch predictably under the tickle of electricity. "The experiment is not over yet." Another thrust, seating himself fully inside Genji and earning a bitten off whine as the trembling assassin struggles not to move.

"Please, Zen..."

"Please...?"

"Don't tease me," Genji pleads, body tightening around Zenyatta's pseudo-penis. "Don't just say what I want to hear... please..."

There's a deep longing beneath his tone, one that Zenyatta picks up on easily. Sliding his hand up the length of Genji's abdomen, he wraps his hand lightly around the assassin's neck while kissing his cheek softly.

"When have I ever spared you anything less than the truth?" he hums lowly.

"...Never," Genji admits, voice strained and amber glazed.

"Then do not accuse me of catering to your desire," Zenyatta says pointedly, squeezing the sides of Genji's neck and pressing just hard enough on his windpipe to drive home his point. Genji's eyes roll back, and one hand shifts, releasing the bed frame before snapping back into place. His heels dig hard into Zenyatta's lower back, trying to pull him closer, and he complies, thrusting in hard enough to move Genji across the sheets.

"Fuck!" the assassin gasps, his entire being grasping at Zenyatta's; his Harmony thrums against Zenyatta's chassis, powerful and-

Zenyatta stops moving, frozen in place with sudden realisation.

Of course he is well aware that he's always been able to sense Genji's presence, and it obviously became easier over time, but he assumed it was because of constant exposure to the assassin's presence, due to all the interactions over the years. Now, suddenly ― no doubt at least in part a result of Genji's confession ― it's blatantly clear that Zenyatta has been attuned to Genji's Harmony for years. Attuned to his love.

Genji has been in love with him for a long time.

And now that he's looking at it objectively, Zenyatta can see that the feeling has been mutual for much longer than he realised.

"...Zen?" Genji murmurs hesitantly, concern bleeding through his frantic desire.

A low, warm laugh escapes Zenyatta, part surprised and part relieved, but mostly delighted. Joy swells in his chest, and he reassures his beloved assassin with a slow, languid kiss, resuming movement and sliding an arm beneath Genji's waist to pull him closer and drag him into every thrust. Releasing Genji's throat, he takes one of the assassin's hands instead, threading their fingers together and pressing their laced hands into the bed.

Genji returns the kiss eagerly, startled only a moment when Zenyatta takes his hand, and then builds quickly into a second untouched release, this time from loving action rather than passionate words. The body-wracking orgasm leaves him trembling with oversensitivity, dazed and half conscious beneath Zenyatta, nothing but a soft, groaning mantra of the monk's name on his lips.

Pleased with the results, Zenyatta stays buried in his assassin, moving only to lean over and pluck his pants from the folded clothes. His orbs chime a delicate melody in response to his contentment while he uses his clothing to clean the majority of the cum from Genji's body, making sure nothing got on the sheets. Then he gently massages the residue into the assassin's skin, taking care not to gunk up joints and exposed parts of machinery.

Within moments, Genji is deep asleep, worn by the building exhaustion of recent days, and Zenyatta takes pride in the knowledge that his assassin feels safe and secure enough to get much needed rest. Very slowly, especially careful in order to avoid waking the man, he withdraws and gives Genji a cursory wipe with a clean portion of cloth to remove some of the lubricant Zenyatta used. Later, he'll coax Genji into a shower for a proper cleaning, but right now, he wants nothing more than to lay beside his beloved human.

"I still miss you, Mondatta," he whispers into the quiet glow of his orb, still healing Genji, "but I do believe I will survive... With this man beside me, I can face a world without you in it."

⛬

"You're staring."

"I am observing," Zenyatta purrs, unbothered that he was caught. "There is a difference."

"Keep your hood down," Genji says, hiding his amusement behind a stern glance. His mask has no expression, but Zenyatta doesn't need to see it to know there's a smile curling scarred lips.

"You as well," he reminds, reaching a gloved hand to pull Genji's hood a bit lower around his mask. "Are you sure you do not want to remove the mask? A mere glimpse of that is more revealing than a view of scars." Genji tenses, catching his hand, but his reply holds neither irritation nor self-loathing.

"I am not one to hide; this is just a precaution for your sake because they know I'm with you. I want to be ready to fight when the time comes."

Pride blossoms in Zenyatta's core; he spent so much of these last few days coaxing and assuring the man about his scars, and he's pleased to see how much more confident it's made his beautiful assassin. After the blissful peace and soul-warming meditations that followed Genji's confession, Zenyatta almost dares to believe they can dock and make it through to the United Nations headquarters without trouble.

A vain hope, of course, but one he entertains anyway, though he is as ready for action as Genji.

"Five minutes to dock, gentlemen," the captain mutters gruffly to them on his way past. "I expect the remaining payment to be in my account by sunset."

"I am a man of my word, captain," Genji replies plainly, shifting ever so slightly to hide Zenyatta; a pointless gesture, given the height difference, but appreciated nonetheless. "Your cooperation is recognised and will remain secret."

"Good. Don't be coming around again."

"Rude bastard," Genji huffs under his breath in Japanese as the captain disappears.

"Be nice, Oni," Zenyatta chides lightly, gaze on the bustling pier.

"Some people don't deserve it."

"All the more reason," he says. "The world is too broken for cruelty to beget cruelty."

"...I'm glad you're back to normal," Genji admits quietly after a moment, brushing metal fingers along Zenyatta's wrist. "I was beginning to worry..."

"I was not in a good place," Zenyatta agrees, turning his hand to hook a finger with Genji's. "It is thanks to you that I am able to meditate again; I have not been so at peace with myself in many months. Perhaps years... And in a mere week, you have returned me to the light of the Iris. I do not deserve you, but I am thankful to have you."

"You were the one who said we rarely get what we deserve," Genji points out, grinning beneath his mask.

"Such an adept student," Zenyatta chuckles, glancing at his companion.

"Only because my master is such a good teacher," Genji returns without hesitation.

Both go still for a moment, startled by the unexpected comment, but Genji doesn't try to take it back. He does hold his breath, however, and his mask doesn't turn away from Zenyatta as he waits for the monk's reaction.

"Do not tempt me with things to test while so close to danger, my dear," Zenyatta replies with only a momentary pause to process what Genji said. "Focus on the task at hand and offer yourself again when our objective is complete."

"I'll hold you to that... Master," Genji smirks, relieved.

His humour vanishes then as he catches sight of a flurry of movement on the dock. Tensing, he steps closer to the railing, letting go of Zenyatta to shade his eyes as he stares.

"...Omnics. Talon," he reports grimly. "I think they figured out you took a ship."

"Is there a way to sneak by?"

"Possibly, but if they notice us..."

"We fight," Zenyatta says simply. "It is well within the scope of my vows to protect you."

"You and your vows," Oni scoffs, faintly amused. "As soon as the ropes are tied and the cargo starts unloading, we can find a place to drop down and get lost in the crowd." He starts eyeing the dock, looking for places to jump ship. Zenyatta taps his shoulder, and when Oni looks up, he points at the shipping containers.

"I have a better idea."

Curious, Oni follows him between the stacks, and with a little careful sneaking, they manage to cling to the side of one of the containers as it gets lifted by one of the many huge dockside cranes, letting it carry them over the heads of their pursuers and dropping free well before they come into sight of the dockhands where the container is being placed. Then they slip between the stacks and into the crowd, leaving the dock without alerting any of Talon's omnics.

Unfortunately Talon isn't the only one waiting for them.

Zenyatta notices it first, the figure bundled like everyone else in clothes that cover every inch of skin to lessen the bite of the chill wind cruising in from the sea. He notes how that same figure, too nondescript to be coincidence, is never far behind, yet doesn't seem willing to pass them either.

"We have a tail," he says quietly, sliding his hand into Oni's and leaning closer as though seeking warmth.

"So we do," Oni hums, hunching his shoulders and shaking himself the way others have, as though by doing so, he can shake off the cold. "Shall we let them know we're aware?"

Instead of answering, Zenyatta detours, first turning left, then crossing the street in the midst of a crowd that forces traffic to a standstill as per the norm of this city; at the end of the next block, he takes a right, and then another, effectively heading back toward the docks.

The tail is still with them, but seems agitated now; Zenyatta can feel their Discord even from half a block away, can pick it out even amongst the swirls of Discord that always plague pedestrians in big cities.

"Your ideas have worked thus far," Oni notes lightly as they pause before a window display that catches the attention of most passersby, if only for a few seconds. "Do you have any more?"

"To _lose_ our tail?" Zenyatta shakes his head. "I prefer to avoid notice entirely when sneaking about. If and when I get caught, I face my opponents directly. But that is clearly not an option here. And you?"

"I'm not sure, but if they haven't engaged with us, then they're likely trying to goad us into a trap."

"Plausible," Zenyatta agrees. "Should we confront them instead?"

"I can't tell if it's just the one person," Oni grumbles, annoyed. "If they have backup, it could be exactly what they want."

"Perhaps we ought to make a run for it, then."

"A wild chase through the streets?" Oni sounds amused, and Zenyatta tips his head in a smile.

"I am an omnic, my dear; I do not tire from something so simple as running."

"Try to keep up then, Master," Oni taunts, abruptly taking off down the street and slipping lithely through the thick crowds. Zenyatta laughs and follows right behind, though he loses ground when Oni darts around a corner to circle back toward their destination and he almost crashes into someone turning the same corner. After that, he's a little more careful.

They dodge between and around passersby, ignoring the indignant shouts of the entitled who feel wronged by their passage. They swing around corners on a dime, without losing speed, even when the joints of their bodies creak mildly in protest at the mistreatment. They dodge into alleys and cut through parking lots, taking the fastest route toward their destination.

Oni stops at the base of a wall dividing a construction lot from an alley beside a short, condemned building that will no doubt soon join the construction, and cups his hands as a step for Zenyatta, who takes it without hesitation, letting the man boost him up onto it and twisting around to reach a hand down for Oni's. They're on their feet the next instant, leaping easily to the low rooftop of the condemned building and darting across it toward the parking garage that looms at the other end, when Oni suddenly trips up and goes down with a curse, tumbling several feet.

"Oni!" Zenyatta scrambles to a halt and backtracks even as Oni drags himself to his feet, only to go down again as one leg gives out beneath him.

A blowdart is stuck just above the knee.

Zenyatta reaches for it, furious, but freezes when he hears low laughter and muted clapping. Both of them look to the sound, recognition immediately flaring through them with hot disdain.

The assassin from Sicily drops from the parking garage to their rooftop, flanked by a pair of Talon omnics, one of which has a blowdart launcher on its wrist, aimed at Oni. Zenyatta shifts to block him bodily while he yanks the dart from his leg and tears at his pants to get at some connection or another in the prosthetic portion.

"Impressive chase," the assassin smirks coldly, speaking English with a faint accent. "But still disappointingly predictable, especially given how well you evaded capture before this."

"You told Talon and the Shimadas we were on a ship," Zenyatta states, hoping that if he can keep the assassin talking, Oni will have a chance to finish what he's doing, and his body will be able to process and expel whatever toxin was in the dart.

"I did," the smug man confirms. "And they were ever so grateful... They even gave me some new toys to hunt you with."

"You lost to me once," Zenyatta points out calmly. "You do not fear a second defeat?"

"You sound pretty confident for being outnumbered. And outmatched." He gestures to the omnics flanking him, neither of which is anything more than machine, to Zenyatta's great sadness. "These babies are top of the line, special prototypes specifically built to take down trained omnic opponents. You wouldn't even last against one of them."

"Care to test that theory?" Zenyatta offers, adjusting his stance ever so noticeably. His orbs, previously linked tight to his neck and locked in place, now disengage and circle menacingly about his shoulders. The assassin grins.

"Take him."

As the pair of omnics launch forward, Zenyatta crosses his arms, creating a sort of boundary within his field of vision as a focus point while charging up a barrage of orbs created from the Discord he pulls out of his surroundings. The omnics get close, and he unleashes the phantom orbs in a wave that knocks the omnics back a step, halting their attack.

"The one outmatched... is you."

It could not have been timed more perfectly; Oni suddenly sidesteps around him, flinging a triplet of shuriken at the assassin and omnics ― one for each ― and lunges for the nearest omnic. Only one shuriken connects, with the omnic Oni isn't attacking, but it clearly doesn't do much in the way of damage either.

While Oni takes one omnic to the ground with his weight and a wakizashi through its head, the assassin, who ducked the shuriken and drew a silenced pistol, darts around behind the other omnic, which is currently pulling the shuriken from its chest. Zenyatta, trusting Oni to finish off the one omnic, focuses his attention on the other, separating one of his orbs from the circle and filling it to the brim with Discord before sending it to attach to the omnic.

"Give up this foolishness, friend," Zenyatta calls lightly, letting loose another volley at the struggling omnic.

A soft, almost strained gunshot responds, and Zenyatta flinches reactively as a bullet rips through the side of the omnic's chest and hits the ground near Zenyatta, sending up chips of cement. The omnic crumples, and Zenyatta commands his orbs around in front of him as a barrier, but Oni is already leaping for the other assassin. He pulls up short as the assassin fires twice into the ground between them.

"Even a demon can't outrun a bullet," the assassin sneers.

"Want to bet?" Oni growls, gripping his wakizashi tightly.

"Maybe I should rephrase," the assassin grins, maliciously delighted. "You can't outrun a _hail_ of bullets." He raises a hand and snaps his fingers, and immediately a dozen or more little red dots appear on both Oni and Zenyatta's bodies, centered primarily around vital spots, like Oni's heart and Zenyatta's central processor.

Neither move, each holding his breath and trying to figure out a way to protect the other, but the assassin doesn't give them time to think.

"Drop your weapons and kick them over to me."

Oni doesn't move right away, but before the assassin repeats himself, he slowly holds out his wakizashi and lowers into a crouch to set it on the ground. Reaching up, he slowly, deliberately wraps his fingers around the handle of his katana, mask shifting ever so slightly in Zenyatta's direction, and the monk's core tightens with the sudden realisation that his demon is about to create a diversion to let him escape.

There's no way Genji will survive this. And he clearly thinks so too; the lonely hum of his Harmony is muted and longing, but determined. He intends to give his life for Zenyatta's.

"No." The word is a whip crack in the expectant silence, and both assassins look at him. He steps forward, making the barrel of the silenced pistol swing in his direction. Ignoring it, and the red pinpoints of promise, he sets himself and raises his arms in an offensive stance that he hasn't used in many, many years. The orbs swirl and dance around him with dark, off-key chimes in response to his anger, and his LEDs flicker red for a fraction of an instant.

"Stay away from him," he warns coldly. "And let us pass in peace, or suffer the consequences."

"The thing is..." the assassin says, seeming unbothered by the threat. "...nobody wants _you_ alive."

It registers what he's implying a moment too late; the assassin's hand comes up, and Oni is already sprinting toward Zenyatta.

Gunshots echo between the buildings in rapid succession, and although a good majority of them are blocked by a reactive command that sends Zenyatta's orbs flitting about in erratic patterns, four burning holes open through his chassis, one of them narrowly missing his processor. Distantly, screams signal the sudden panic of passersby in hearing range.

Pain rips through Zenyatta, wires pulsing with the lacking information, alerts blurring his vision with warnings about power loss and oil leakage, and he collapses to his hands and knees, several of his orbs jostled loose from their link now and clanking heavily to the ground.

"Zenyatta!"

Another bullet tears through the side of his jaw, almost ripping off the entire piece, and the next hits Genji instead, as he throws himself over Zenyatta's back. Zenyatta jolts, trying to pull Genji off and out of harm's way, but before he can even really try, a startled, cut-off scream marks a halt to the execution, and all three men on the roof go still, taken aback by the unexpected sound. Then the assassin's eyes widen.

"What the-" He backpedals quickly, staring upward in shock, and Zenyatta forces his damaged body to comply with his demands, twisting and grabbing Genji to pull him close against his chest, where he's protected.

A loud grunt precedes the crash of something heavy landing on the roof nearby, and Zenyatta's hold on Genji tightens, readying himself to die.

Then the other assassin screams, the sound overwhelmed by a loud, animalistic roar. Zenyatta looks up, clearing away alerts to see a giant armoured gorilla holding the terrified assassin by the scruff of the neck and bellowing into his face.

A barely audible whoosh draws Zenyatta's attention before he can really process what he's seeing, and his gaze falls on a slender little slip of a woman with messy brunette hair and wide blue eyes behind orange-tinted goggles. She grins at him, flipping one of the twin blaster pistols from her hand to a holster at her wrist in order to tap her forehead in salute.

"Cheers, love," she giggles with a thick British accent. "The cavalry's here!"

"Genji!" another female voice calls out, also heavily accented, but of differing origin. A tall, willowy woman with bright gold hair and metal wings attached to her back glides down to the rooftop and runs nimbly toward them.

"Angela?" Hesitantly, Zenyatta lets go of Genji so he can stand, taking his reaction to mean that the newcomers are allies.

"Oh thank goodness," Angela huffs in relief, one dainty hand pressed to her ample chest. The other holds a staff that she plants on the ground with a clank, which seems to activate a golden beam that immediately connects to Genji. "I worried we wouldn't reach you in time."

"Wouldn't reach- What do you mean?"

"We came to escort you to the UN headquarters," she explains. "We would have been here sooner, but we were spread out across the city and it took us a while to regroup once Tracer found you." She steps closer, reaching for his mask. "Now let me see; are you wounded? Were you shot?" Genji catches her wrist, stopping her.

"Angela, please-"

"Mercy, we need to get moving!" a gruff voice cuts in as yet another person joins them on the rooftop, this time through the access door into the building. "We've got bogeys incoming!"

"Later, then," Angela says firmly. "Winston, is he useful?"

"No," the gorilla answers, startling Zenyatta further. He drops the pale, shaking assassin to the ground. "He's not the one in charge. Tracer-"

"On it, big guy!" the slender brunette chirps, blinking out of existence and reappearing beside the blanched assassin as Winston picks up a giant gun of some kind that Zenyatta didn't notice at first and leaps for the top of the parking garage. With an easy swat from her pistol to the back of his head, the assassin goes down, and Tracer crouches to check his pulse, nodding to herself and then vanishing, literally.

"On your feet, monk," the newest arrival snaps, holding out a hand to Zenyatta. The man's face is covered, but his hair is white, and wrinkles are visible above the visor; Zenyatta silently marvels at the extensive range of people included in this odd band.

"My thanks," he manages, voice synthesiser warbling a bit with static as he takes the man's hand and allows him to help.

"Damn. Not lookin' too good there, are you?" the man grunts, mask tipping to take him in head to toe. "Mercy! Heal the monk!"

"No need," Zenyatta says quickly, raising his hands as Genji whips around. "The damage is mostly superficial, but for some leaking oil and a few torn wires; I may postpone repairs for an hour or so without issue."

"Are you sure, Master?" Genji asks uneasily, stepping close to touch his loosened jaw and gently pushing it back into place. When he lets go, it falls again.

"I am sure," Zenyatta lies, taking his hand. "The finish line is before us, my dear; let us not lose sight of it."

Genji hesitates, but dips his head in a reluctant nod, turning to the masked man.

"Please take care of Zenyatta, Soldier 76," he requests in a formal tone, bowing slightly. "I will advance with Dr. Winston and Miss Tracer, and we will draw their attention to give you some breathing room."

"He is in good hands, Genji," Angela promises, twirling her staff and drawing a small but fierce looking pistol. "We'll be right behind you."

With another nod, Genji leaps up the side of the parking garage, disappearing in the same direction as the brunette and the gorilla. The instant he's out of sight, Soldier 76 turns to Zenyatta.

"How bad is it really?" he demands in a voice that leaves no room for denial.

"...I may not make it to the headquarters," Zenyatta admits, almost unable to get out the whole report due to the continued glitches of his voice. "My central processor is undamaged, but power to core functions has been reduced by 76 percent. My memory core is stored on a solid state drive; I will survive, but this body might not, and without another body to which I may begin a transfer..."

"I am no expert with machines," Angela says carefully, "but I created the nanobiotic healing technology I use now, and I have never known it to fail, even where I am not fully competent to understand my success. Please, Mr. Tekhartha, let me try?"

"We should really keep moving," Zenyatta hedges, disliking the separation from Genji and, in truth, not quite willing to trust so easily. That he trusts at all is a testament to his faith in his beloved assassin.

"The others are clearing a path right now," Soldier 76 grunts, scanning their surroundings. "We've got a moment."

"I see. Then... I suppose I must accept."

Smiling gently, Angela holsters her pistol and sets her staff again, reaching out with her now free hand to place it lightly against Zenyatta's chest. A soft wave of gold flows down her arm and into Zenyatta's chassis, warm and comforting. It's similar almost to the embrace of the Iris when he meditates, yet foreign in a way he can't explain. The oddly buzzing warmth creeps through his wires, repairing most of the smaller rips and tears, and soothing the raw ache of the rest.

"Are we not too exposed here?" he asks while the nanobiotic healing works at his injuries.

"We should be fine for a minute," Soldier 76 states, "but not much longer; we cleared out the hostiles firing at you, and the others leaving drew away the incoming bogeys, but it won't take long for the enemy to realise you're not with them."

Zenyatta doesn't like the sound of that. For multiple reasons... Primarily, it seems too easy, like this is all some elaborate set-up to lead him into a trap. On the other hand, however, if it isn't, Genji is still putting himself in danger to distract Talon and the Shimada Clan.

But if Genji trusts these people, then Zenyatta won't say a word. He trusts Genji, so he'll give these people a chance.

"...Oil loss is reduced 83 percent, and power has been restored by 42 percent," he reports when Angela steps back, looking a bit more worn than a moment prior.

"That's good?" Soldier 76 clarifies.

"Indeed," Zenyatta nods. "I will make it to the UN. However, I will require rather immediate repairs."

"You'll get 'em," the man humphs, drawing a huge gun ― not nearly as large as Winston's, but still formidable for a human ― and heading for the access door he entered through. "Let's get moving; we can't afford to fall too far behind."

"After you, Mr. Tekhartha," Angela smiles brightly, drawing her pistol again.

Zenyatta gathers his orbs tight to his neck and follows Soldier 76, reminding himself again to trust in Genji's trust of these people, and they hurry through the streets at ground level, zigzagging but otherwise fairly direct toward their destination. No one stops or hassles them, and if Zenyatta had lungs, he'd be holding his breath in hopes of arriving safely.

When the headquarters building stands before them, relief floods through him, until Soldier 76 stops with a raised fist signalling a halt, and he realises how much open space there is between them and UN grounds.

Any sniper worth his or her salt would easily be able to pick him off in that distance. Even with the ever-present crowds of pedestrians and traffic.

The memory file of Mondatta's death surfaces unbidden, and Zenyatta's core twists sickeningly. This is it; victory is so close, a mere hundred yards away... and yet untouchable.

"Winston," Soldier 76 growls into a comm. "We're across the street from the objective; approximately a hundred yards southeast. We need cover. Over."

Whatever Winston's response, Zenyatta can't hear it, but the man nods and holds out his arm, backing up and motioning for Zenyatta and Angela to do the same.

Passersby are beginning to notice the trio, and the moment they catch sight of Soldier 76's gun, many of them blanch and scamper away as fast as possible. Someone shouts, and the crowds stir restlessly as others are alerted to danger and begin looking around frantically; any second now, everything is going to devolve into panicked chaos.

"Get ready to run, on my signal," Soldier 76 commands, ignoring the civilians and keeping his visor pointed upward at potential sniper perches. "Head straight for the gate and don't stop for anything, got it?"

Zenyatta never gets a chance to voice his uncertainties; a shadow appears above, and Winston lands in the middle of the street with a grunt, causing the ground to tremble beneath him. Immediately, a dome shield appears around him, covering most of the street, and just as quickly, two bullets crack against the barrier from two different directions, fracturing it. Tires squeal as cars brake and swerve to avoid hitting Winston or the shield, and chaos ensues as people try to flee the giant armoured gorilla, the man with the gun, the sourceless gunshots, or some combination of the three.

"RUN!" Soldier 76 bellows, darting into the street between pedestrians and firing his gun toward one of the snipers. Angela leaps forward, pistol out and firing at the other, and a blue static glow from her staff envelops the man.

Turning his gaze to the gates of the UN headquarters, flanked by startled and perplexed guards, Zenyatta bolts. Twice he almost bowls over a terrified passerby, and at one point, someone slams open a car door right in front of him to leap out and flee; he crashes into the door and stumbles into the car next to it, alerts flaring in his vision to warn him of how much damage the jostling causes to partially healed lines and wires.

The shield cracks and breaks under the assault of another bullet, and Winston's huge frame is suddenly between Zenyatta and the snipers, bodily shielding him. Genji appears on the other side, wakizashi drawn and at the ready, and he grabs Zenyatta's arm, pulling him toward the massive gate set back from the road.

The number of guards that were at the gate when Zenyatta stood across the street has since tripled in the short time it took to get this far, and every single one of them is ready to fire on the approaching trio.

"Halt!" one of them orders loudly. Civilians scramble to get as far from the gate as possible to avoid whatever firefight is about to start.

"Get down!!" Winston bellows, waving at the guards.

A bullet pings off one of the stone walls around the compound, having just missed Zenyatta's head, and gouges a deep scar into the surface. Immediately, Genji pushes Zenyatta's head down, and the majority of the guards move forward, guarded against Winston by those at the rear, and take new positions to fire back at the snipers.

"Tracer, hurry up and take care of those snipers!" Winston snaps, pulling a device from his pack and tossing it in the middle of the guards, who recoil reactively. Before they can even call out warnings to each other, another shield is projected, just in time to stop another bullet.

Loud cursing draws Zenyatta's attention to Soldier 76, who is outside the shield in the now mostly empty street; he drops behind the cover of an abandoned car with Angela right beside him. The static blue from her staff switches to soft gold and he relaxes a little.

"Get him inside already!" the man shouts their direction.

Genji doesn't hesitate to start dragging Zenyatta toward the gate again as yet another bullet sends fractures across the shield. He goes willingly, pressing close until weapons swing around to bear on him. As Genji takes a half step back, Zenyatta drops his hood and raises his hands, the sight of his partially unhinged jaw making the guards flinch in reactive horror.

"Please," he states as calmly as he can. "I come in peace, bearing no weapons nor ill will. I wish to meet with the UN council, immediately."

"...You're the monk," one of them realises, eyes widening. "The one from the summit! We were certain you died too."

"I am alive," Zenyatta confirms quickly, glancing at Genji, who's vanished already, and then gestures vaguely at his jaw and the holes in his chest, now visibly leaking oil. "Though not for lack of attempts. Please; as you saw, the danger is still highly imminent."

"We can't-" one begins, looking uneasily toward the apparent leader, who is too focused on trying to find the sniper or snipers to notice them yet.

"Let him in!" calls out the one who recognised Zenyatta. He holsters his weapon and pats himself quickly for a keycard. "Search him for weapons and hold him in quarantine until we can notify the council."

"What's going on over there?" the leader shouts over her shoulder, gaze still focused up high, though no other bullets have been fired yet.

"It's the monk from the summit," the guard with the keycard replies. "The one who supposedly has information for the UN council. I'm taking him into custody until we get this all sorted out."

"Good. Then be quick about it," the leader says shortly. "And where'd the gorilla go?"

"Er, not sure, ma'am," someone else answers while the keycard guard opens the gate and gestures Zenyatta through. "It just... er, jumped across the street and disappeared with the other guys and that lady."

As the gate closes behind him, Zenyatta hears the leader shouting orders to double security and contact the council members immediately.

Only once he's across the lawn and inside the building itself does it suddenly dawn on Zenyatta...

He's inside the United Nations headquarters.

He did it. He won.

The war is about to come to an end.

⛬

EPILOGUE

"What was in the files?"

Zenyatta turns on his optics and looks up, warming at the sight of his assassin perched on the windowsill like a cat. Genji slides his mask to the top of his head and grins, glancing over his shoulder as he steps lightly to the floor and closes the window behind him.

"I am not entirely sure myself," Zenyatta admits, tapping the couch beside him when Genji turns back around. "I skimmed the files when Mondatta sent them to me, and I have seen some of the information as he gathered it, but I have not elected to delve into the deeper strata of documentation."

"I forgot how wordy you can be," Genji laughs, laying himself out across Zenyatta's lap with a cheeky smirk. "Verbose. That's the word, isn't it? You're very verbose."

"Verbose leans more toward talkative or chatty," Zenyatta corrects, amused as much by the impertinence as the word choice. "I am a vocabulist, and I enjoy sesquipedalian words. Your dilettante attempts to impress me are humorous and so idiosyncratically _you_."

"Now you're just showing off," Genji scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"'Showing off' implies there is more to see; I unfortunately have expended the majority of boast-worthy vocabulary."

"Shut up and kiss me already," Genji chuckles, leaning in to do just that. Humming disapproval, Zenyatta slips a finger between his faceplate and Genji's lips, stopping him.

"And what have you done to earn it, my dear?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Genji pouts. "Do you have any idea how many guards I had to slip by to get here? No, I didn't kill any of them."

"How praiseworthy," Zenyatta replies blandly.

"I didn't want to disappoint my Master," the assassin purrs, trailing his tongue slowly across the fingertip at his lips. Zenyatta dips that finger and another into Genji's mouth, watching his eyes fall closed as his characteristic blush darkens.

"Someone's eager," he notes passively, cataloguing the faltered heartbeat and hitched breath.

"Mm..." Genji reluctantly draws back from his fingers to speak, properly removing his mask and tugging the hood down before cupping both hands around Zenyatta's repaired jaw. "You're safe. You're _alive_ , and for now the threat is gone. I can't even begin to express how happy that makes me. You changed my life, Zenyatta... You made me more than I could ever have hoped to become on my own, and I owe you more than I could ever repay. I..." Breaking off, he hesitates a moment, staring hard into a gaze that will never see the way he does. "You are everything to me, and I love you. You own my heart and soul, and I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I will never be more grateful for anything in my life."

"Genji," Zenyatta purrs, gently tracing a fingertip over the assassin's cheekbone and tracking down the back of his jaw to curl around the back of his neck. "No man can own another who does not own himself; I gave myself to you long before you tried to seduce me. Our souls have been in Harmony for many years, you know."

"Really?"

"Indeed. I meant it when I said you are everything to me, too, Genji. You are mine, but I am also yours."

Genji doesn't reply this time, leaning in to press his lips firmly against the seam of Zenyatta's faceplate. Zenyatta doesn't stop him this time, and energy sparks against the assassin's tongue in passionate response.

"I love you," Genji murmurs into the kiss, "and I want you, so much... Master... please..."

"I cannot move," Zenyatta sighs reluctantly. "I lied about the extent of the damage I took getting here, and my nano-healing systems are still in progress. Your friend Angela expedited the process, but the damage was extensive; it may yet be a few days before I can safely move without disrupting the nanites."

"But you will be okay?" Genji asks anxiously, disappointment present but secondary to his concern. His gaze skips over Zenyatta's faceplate and down over his chassis, searching for any remaining damage.

"I will," the monk assures, cupping his cheek and drawing his attention back up. "But I am afraid I cannot experiment with you as I would like."

Genji lets out a relieved sigh and caresses Zenyatta's neck struts and chestpiece. For a moment, he simply savours the knowledge that his love is alive and safe.

"May I...?" He doesn't finish, but his fingers track downward, and Zenyatta doesn't stop him. In fact, the monk leans back, shifting his hips forward slightly in encouragement.

"On your knees, my dear," he purrs, sparking a shiver that thrills across Genji's skin.

Immediately, the assassin slides off Zenyatta's lap and onto the floor, settling into an immaculate seiza before the monk. Humming approval, Zenyatta discards his pants with minimal effort and spreads his knees, waiting patiently. Genji, in contrast, stifles a low groan, transfixed by even the slightest movements, and fidgets with suppressed avidity until Zenyatta holds out an inviting hand. Shuffling closer, he places his hand in Zenyatta's and fairly whines in need when the monk leads him to the modesty plate. He fumbles with it, even under Zenyatta's guiding touch, and then gently sets it aside, glancing up at Zenyatta for permission.

"Mouth only," is the stern allowance.

Eager, Genji places his hands on Zenyatta's knees and leans forward to touch his tongue to the silicone-sheathed extension as it slides out. His lips part around the thick head and slip down past the crown, scars stretched to whiteness around the girth of the monk's appendage. His eyes fall closed and a soft groan works past his throat as he sinks down inch by inch, taking only long enough to ensure he's producing enough saliva to lubricate the process.

"Look at you," Zenyatta hums lightly, unaffected as he sinks a hand into Genji's patchy, faintly coloured locks. "So eager and obedient... A perfect toy for my entertainment."

Genji shudders, faltering, and Zenyatta examines him for signs of reluctance, finding only desire and arousal.

"Ah yes..." He feigns remembering what he purposely attempted to reconstruct. "You like it when I use that crude language, correct? You orgasmed untouched from it last time."

A pleading whine escapes as Genji opens his eyes to look up.

"You are so beautiful stretched around my cock."

The effect is instantaneous and remarkable; Genji jolts sharply, hips bucking roughly upward, and he digs his fingers into the struts of Zenyatta's thighs. His groan is low and wanton, jaw tightening momentarily around the intrusive limb resting heavy on his tongue.

The spike in his arousal simultaneously amuses and fascinates Zenyatta, who tugs at the assassin's hair and shifts slightly to rest a foot on Genji's knee.

"Are you intending to cum without permission again?" he asks plainly, his tone as casual as if mentioning that the sun has just come out from behind cloud cover.

"Mm-mm, mmm!" Genji forces himself still, desperation to please in his lust-blown gaze.

"Good. Continue." Zenyatta watches for a moment, doing nothing while his assassin eagerly eases down to swallow the whole of his pseudopenis, only a quick inhale preceding the opening of the man's throat to accommodate the intrusion.

Zenyatta can't feel anything more than the warmth and the change of pressure, but the sight of it is more than enough for him to have a decent understanding of why this appeals to men; sparks of warm excitement skitter through his wires at the vision of bliss that Genji makes, heavy-lidded and intensely intent, no hesitation in expression or action.

"You really are so beautiful, my pretty little assassin," he says quietly, stroking his fingers through Genji's hair and idly sliding his foot up the man's thigh. "Your scars make such a pleasant picture stretched around me like this."

Genji shudders again and stops moving, his breathing forcefully even and deep as he tries to hold back the wash of hot need caused by the praise and the shift of Zenyatta's foot closer to his groin. He can't stop the first little jolt of his hips toward the promise of pleasuring pressure, but he manages to keep himself still after. His form for the seiza is a mess now, but he can't bring himself to care when all he can think about is doing whatever it takes to earn more praise from the voicebox of his Master.

"Are you close, my dear?" Zenyatta purrs, tightening his fist in Genji's hair. The assassin groans loudly, pausing his consumption of Zenyatta's cock again. "Do you want to cum?"

"Mm-hm!" Genji looks up, hopeful, and Zenyatta uses his grip to pull him off firmly, earning a satisfying hiss of pained pleasure.

"Hands stay where they are; beg for my help and I might consider letting you orgasm."

"Please..." The word is a punched out gasp, Genji's hips rocking toward Zenyatta's foot despite his best efforts to keep still. "Master, please, I beg of you... Step on me. Grind me beneath your heel."

A rush of heated embarrassment colours his face in his unique, splotchy blush, and stalls his tongue. Zenyatta doesn't reply immediately, grip tight and controlling as he eyes the assassin, preventing him from looking away while Zenyatta considers.

"Why should I?" he asks finally, conversational and dismissive; there's no judgment or disgust in his tone, and that eases Genji's shame. "I could leave you like this, on the edge, desperate for a release I will never give."

"Nn... Whatever you want, Master," Genji breathes, unable to stop himself from trying to find friction against the foot mere inches from his groin. "Anything you want."

"Such pretty words," Zenyatta purrs, his grip loosening noticeably to scratch lightly at Genji's scalp, only to tighten again with a sudden yank as he shifts his foot to press hard on the assassin's aching arousal, which prompts a strangled, gurgling cry of pain and bliss. "And still your body speaks truth."

"Please, Master, please!" Genji gasps, babbling incoherently and thrusting against the press of Zenyatta's foot against his cock. "Harder; please, please, please..."

"Is this what you wanted, my pretty little toy?" Zenyatta hums, grinding his foot down sharply and earning a low moan as Genji's eyes roll back and his mouth falls open.

"Yes... yes, Master, yes yes please..." His fingers dig into the struts of Zenyatta's knees, clinging desperately as he rocks frantically against the sharp-edged pleasure.

"So noisy," Zenyatta notes casually, tugging him forward again until the tip of the pseudopenis nudges his cheek. "Occupy your tongue."

Immediately, Genji obeys, tongue flicking out to drag the tip into his mouth and sealing his lips around the head with a low groan.

Now that Zenyatta has given him a chance to safeword for something a little more extreme that they haven't tried until now, only to receive nothing but eager encouragement to continue, he has no qualms about forcing Genji further down on him, cataloguing the new spike in arousal as the assassin chokes and gags in his too quick effort to please.

"You truly get a rise out of being used, do you?" Zenyatta says softly, his gentle, intrigued tone far at odds with the cruelty of his hand and foot.

"Mmm..." Genji's gaze is uneasy, anxious, ashamed when it flicks up to meet Zenyatta's.

"It is so wonderful," the monk assures, "to see you so open and truthful, so honest with yourself and with me. You are incredibly gorgeous, Genji."

Genji's whine of delight ripples through Zenyatta, both physically through their connection and emotionally through the mingling of their souls. The burst of proud joy he feels is almost addictive, and Zenyatta allows Genji to continue unguided for a moment while he examines the sudden surge and the effect it has on himself.

Perhaps he is incapable of feeling the way humans do, either in pure sensation or in emotional bonding, but there are parallels, and right at this moment, he can almost imagine that he feels the kind of pleasure that could escalate into a form of climax if he knew how to cultivate it.

And Genji gave him that; he would never have thought it possible had the assassin not decided to entertain whatever whim brought them together in a new sort of physicality that night, forever changing the dynamics of their relationship.

"Incredible..." he hums to himself. Genji, mistaking it for more praise, keens happily and ruts subtly against Zenyatta's foot, still making his best effort to consume the silicone appendage between the monk's legs. Zenyatta purrs contented amusement. "You have been so perfectly obedient, my dear; you may cum."

To facilitate his beloved assassin, he tugs at Genji's hair with calculated precision and presses more forcefully against the rock hard ― no doubt painfully aching ― arousal beneath his heel. Genji, choking out a muffled moan, ruts more intentionally and noticeably, encouragement and desperation granting him a shamelessness he would otherwise find appalling; he grinds helplessly against the ruthless friction, mindless need burning through him and escalating into a blinding crescendo that persists longer than he thought possible, a seeming eternity of wild, untamable bliss potent enough to knock him out for several long moments.

When he comes to his senses again, Zenyatta is gently tapping his cheek and stroking his hair. The monk's pseudopenis is retracted and covered, and the only signs of their tryst are Zenyatta's lack of clothing and the massive, uncomfortably sticky wet spot at Genji's groin.

"Genji, say something, my dear," Zenyatta coos softly, trailing his fingertips down Genji's jaw and skipping across to cover the assassin's hand on his knee.

"Something," Genji croaks, voice cracked and worn; he sounds absolutely _ruined_ , and that brings a flush of heat to his face, which he buries in Zenyatta's thigh.

"Cheeky," the monk chuckles, still stroking his hair tenderly. "How are you feeling?"

"...tired..."

"You just experienced a rather intense orgasm," Zenyatta points out teasingly. "I am not surprised." Genji swats weakly at Zenyatta's side with his free hand, but misses entirely.

"...'s good..." he murmurs quietly, half whispering because his vocal chords refuse to cooperate after that abuse.

"You enjoyed yourself?" Zenyatta asks, taking in the peaceful, unguarded expression of joy and satisfaction on his assassin's scarred face. It turns sheepish and Genji nods subtly before trying to hide again. Zenyatta cups his chin, making him look up. "Oh my beautiful assassin; do not hide from me. I am so very proud of you for your honesty. There is nothing to be ashamed of; your needs and desires are only wrong if you try to deny them. Embrace who you are, because that is the man I love."

The brilliant, mottled blush returns and Genji nuzzles into his palm, a soft smile pulling at his lips.

"I don't think I have to worry about dropping with you showering such praise on me," he chuckles hoarsely. "But... um... May I change before...?" He trails off, unsure what comes next, but Zenyatta merely leans down to place a sparking omnic kiss against the man's temple.

"The bathroom is through that door, and I have been provided with changes of clothing that I will not need; you may use them until your... uniform can be cleaned. When you have finished cleaning up and changing, return to me and we can discuss your friends at Overwatch."

"Discuss?" Genji echoes, cocking his head curiously.

"I am afraid I was rather suspicious of their timely appearance and did not treat them as I should have," Zenyatta admits. "I would like to rectify that mistake. And I would like to know more about my beloved's friends, particularly if you intend to spend more time with them."

"You're jealous!" Genji laughs suddenly, carefully rising to his feet. His legs wobble, protesting his weight after kneeling so awkwardly for so long.

"I am not jealous," Zenyatta huffs indignantly, resting a steadying hand on Genji's hip to be sure he won't fall over.

"Of course not, Master," Genji teases with a broad smile, leaning over to kiss him lightly, almost absently. "I will be right back, and I'll tell you about every time I chased them each off with the sharpest edge of my tongue in the old days."

"I am not jealous," Zenyatta insists again while Genji makes his way to the bathroom. When the door closes behind him, Zenyatta sighs pleasantly, staring at it. "I merely want to be informed of every part of your life, my love; when I find the courage to ask, it will become my life as well."


End file.
